


Grande Speculation

by QueenEchidna



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Broken Respawn, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Psychological Trauma, mute!Pyro, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEchidna/pseuds/QueenEchidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One by one each member of BLU is to meet an untimely fate, each one leaving behind a legacy and people who will miss them dearly. Without a Respawn, the BLU team needs to protect one-another from the REDs who are trying to do the same thing, but fear and the ever-lingering thought of revenge are a powerful deterrent to safety. Each individual has their own outlook, and each one fears a different thing; but each one shares the sense of dread as they loose the team they have become attached to. Is it even possible for anything to be fixed, surely not, there may not be hope, there may not be enough time to grasp onto the few remaining threads of the team they so love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye Pyro

**Author's Note:**

> I've been needing to do a Respawn-Down Fic for the longest time. I've finally started as you can tell.  
> Character death from the get-go, and I apologize that a lot of what goes on is out-of-character, I'm working on that. I indulge in multiple ships but nothing too obnoxious that there isn't a story. Lots of Bromances if you squint.  
> Do enjoy, constructive comments are always welcome, and thank you very much for ready. :)

.1. 

The battle had started like any other; Scout sprinting ahead of everybody, Demoman setting an arch of sticky bombs and consequentially blowing himself to pieces within minutes of the round starting, Engineer set up a sentry near the intelligence, Heavy and Medic heading out to take out the enemy, Spy slipping off to somewhere unseen, Soldier shouting his lungs out at the front, Pyro hanging around Engie for a while before moving on to burn the RED team to a crisp, and Sniper retreating into his coop and taking out the enemy headshot-by-headshot. 

Yes, everything was normal, until Medic finally made his way out of the resupply room after about 15 minutes of re-prepping to find Heavy waiting for him with Sasha at his side; and on their way out they found their Scout curled up against a rocky outcropping, starring off into nothingness with a horrified expression. “What is being wrong leetle Scout?” Heavy asked kindly, lowering his trusted minigun to address his teammate. The Bostonian stuttered for a moment, straightening his hat and shuffling his headset around his neck. 

“ _Herr_ Scout?” Medic called to him after he didn’t say anything. His pale navy eyes dart up to meet Heavy’s worried indigo orbs and moved back down to lock onto the shaking youth. 

Finally Scout looked up, his pupils mere black dots in the royal blue expanse that were his irises. He looked absolutely terrified, and tears shimmer on the verge of falling down his dirtied cheeks. “It’s….it’s Pyro man…” His words were forced through his shaking and he choked back an obvious sob, letting out a deep breath as he tried to regain his composure. “He…he never got up man…Pyro man…been down for half an hour…Respawn ain’t workin’ man, Pyro is…oh my god…” The Bostonian threw his arms around his midsection and fell back against the rocks again, the tears slipping past his façade of toughness. 

Heavy looked straight to Medic, “Doktor you think is true? Respawn is not working?” He was worried but was obviously more worried about everyone else, mostly Medic however. The German remained motionless, his mouth agape but no words found their way out.

Across 2Fort, Engineer grinned to himself, standing back to fondly admire a freshly built sentry he set up right at the entrance of the BLU base to protect his team and the base. His walkie-talkie suddenly buzzed to life and a certain German-accented voice yelled through the speaker. “Woah woah slow down there partner. Now, what did’ya say Doc?” Engineer placed a hand on his hip awaiting the reply and noticed his team’s Soldier stopping at his nearby Dispenser. He smiled when the hot-headed mercenary looked his way and threw a good-natured thumbs-up. 

However only a few moments later, after hearing Medic’s frenzied warning, the color drained from his face and his grin faded. “Oh my god…” The wrench dropped from his hand and he sprinted over to Soldier, grabbing his arm and pulling inside the BLU base.

“Hey what the hell are you doing, the battle’s that way!” Soldier thrashed about in the Texan’s grip but was shushed and told to remain in place as the Engineer ran back to his sentry and grabbed his toolbox and turned towards the RED base.

He noticed his team’s Demoman in front of the enemy base, “Demoman!” Engineer yelled over the noise, which got the Scott’s attention well enough. “Git over here ya’ drunken fool right now!”   
Demo, impressed and intimidated with the shorter man’s forcefulness, did as told, and soon enough Engie was herding him and Soldier back into the BLU base.

They found Medic and Heavy in the resupply room with a quaking Scout on one of the benches with Heavy’s hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder. The German was pacing back and forth and only stopped when he finally noticed Engineer, Soldier, and Demoman enter. “Medic are ya’ serious about this…how are we gonna be sure about this?” Engineer removed his hardhat momentarily to run his bare palm over his scalp before replacing his yellow cap. 

Medic barely hesitated turning his worried gaze on the Texan, “Pyro is dead…” His voice held an unexpected quaver. As soon as he saw the devastated expression cover the mechanic’s usually happy features, Medic regretted breaking the news in such a stoic manner, forgetting just how long Engineer and Pyro had been friends. If he had been a different kind of man he would have apologized and hugged the shorter, stockier American, but that’s not Medic and he’s not that kind of man. 

“Oy, what’s goin’ on?” Sniper trudged in with an uncharacteristically perturbed scowl on his face, gaining him the attention of everyone in the room. Engineer shakily sat down in the nearest chair, his mouth hung open just a bit and he didn’t say a word. Sniper took notice with a curious, and perhaps a slightly worried, gaze. 

“No…no, no, no,” Engie mumbled into his hands, not so much as flinching when Soldier put a hand on his shoulder. “Respawn ain’t workin’ Slim, and…and…goddammit.” He couldn’t get out a straight sentence before a pre-cry breathe took over and forced his face back into his hands. 

“I can’t believe it,” Even Demoman processed the problem and lowered his bottle, looking more worried than he ever had. Medic took the initiative to turn to the Autralian, seeing as though no one else was giddy to talk about it and sighed.

“Our Respawn system is not vorking, and our Pyro is dead.” Dammit, the same quaver that was in his voice before is still there, and Medic curses himself for sounding worried at all. Sniper visually flinches, his rifle hung uselessly at his side and his free hand moved up to scratch the back of his neck.

No one said anything; Sniper seemed to be taking the information well enough but rather slowly as he moves back against the wall. No, he never had a particularly close relationship with the Firebug, but he’d be dammed if hearing those few words made him feel; feel what he couldn’t quite pick out, but mad, upset, and regretful were a few closest to the unknown feeling. “Where’s the Spook?” The Australian asked, directing his blank stare at the ground, needing to say something but nothing about Pyro, not yet. 

His question was answered by the familiar clicking of heeled-shoes and Spy finally stepped into the room after everyone else, a cigarette held between his lips. “What is ‘ze meaning of zis? I was busy you know, I cannot be drawn away from work so easily. So what is so important?” He said it like he didn’t really care, and he didn’t because he didn’t know the severity of the situation. His gaze shot around the room quickly, brown eyes scanning the seats and the floor, “And where is Pyro?”

Suddenly everyone in the room felt guilty, 7 sets of eyes avoiding the general area of the Spy until a sympathetic soul found the guts to look up to meet his gaze. “Spy,” Medic let go a slow breath, having decided that if he were in Spy’s position and someone was telling him about Heavy being…gone, then the German would want someone to just tell him. The Frenchman blew out some smoke to the side, simply awaiting an answer. “Respawn is not working…Pyro cannot…Pyro isn’t coming back.” It was incredibly more difficult to manage out than Medic had originally expected when he began breaking the news. And it got even harder to keep his composure as Spy lost his; the color drained from the saboteur’s features and the fag fell from his lips as a shocked expression took over his visage. 

To Spy, the world got really dark with those simple words and his vision got crossed; he stumbled back just a bit, almost unnoticeable as a falter, his hand shot back to grip the doorframe. “ _Non…_ ” His voice cracked terribly under the strain and his legs seemed to have a mind of their own as he kept stepping backwards, running his back into the wall. 

“Spy I know that this is hard to process but you must calm yourself. Sit down, please.” Medic pulled out a chair with his foot, beckoning his paralyzed teammate to sit. Willing himself to not break down, Spy shook his head and left the room without so much as another word. “ _Herr_ Spy, don’t do anything stupid you…” Medic pressed his shoulder against the doorframe, pinching the bridge of his nose, a persisting headache began to pain him more predominantly.

The following half an hour was taken up with Medic, Soldier, Heavy, Demo, and Sniper yelling at each-other about what to do since the rest of their team was shocked and incapable of functioning at the time. Eventually Heavy felt bad enough seeing Scout still curled up that he slipped away from the argument, astoundingly quietly, to comfort his younger teammate. Soldier mimicked an action very similar when he returned to Engie’s side, wrapping an arm around him and attempting to console his friend. 

The initial conflict was never sorted out and the confrontation ended when Demoman slipped down the wall to sit on the ground, mumbling something about _“The wee Firebug being barely a pip over Scout’s age, and oh how much I’ll miss spending time with the lad.”_ Medic sighed and rubbed his forehead, he wouldn’t admit it but he was absolutely-fucking-terrified, and he wanted nothing more than to heard every one of his teammates somewhere safe. Yet another thing he would never admit was that he had grown incomparably fond of every member of the BLU team, and had taken some sort of a fraternal bond over them all, being the oldest of them all. He was in constant denial about it, however, until now; with Pyro gone and a Firebug-shaped hole in his very being, Medic was beginning to realize how much he cared for them all. 

Spy had barely made it down the hallway before he collapsed against the wall, breathing laboriously and gripping his fists so tight that his nails cut his gloves. Shock would have been a good word for his standpoint, but at the time he was too paralyzed to even think; a sense of dread prodded the back of his mind, and an overwhelming sense of loss completely blanketed it. His Firebug was dead, not ever coming back and he couldn’t do jack-shit about it. He worked up his willpower again and made a dash for his room, saying nothing, barely even thinking as he slammed the door behind him. 

“I just can’t believe he’s gone…” Scout murmured, breaking the silence of the resupply room and gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Medic looked over and visually recoiled at the sight of their tough-headed, obnoxious, loud-mouthed, Boston-born Scout with tears falling over his cheeks. Heavy kept an arm around the smaller man, a sad look plastered on his face as he felt the runner’s body quake lightly under his behemoth-like hand. 

“Yes Scout, to me I am just thinking he is in his room as usual. But I do not think he is…” Heavy admitted, looking downcast and just as saddened as Scout. Medic’s stone-cold heart effectively thawed out and broke right then, his eyebrows uncharacteristically angled upwards in worry and he stepped over to place a hand on Heavy’s shoulder. 

The Russian man turned his head towards his doctor, “Heavy, ve all need to talk, all of us.” He wanted to add something along the lines of _’But don’t let anyone out of your sight because I won’t allow anything else bad to happen.’_ though he refrained from such vocal worry in favor of stepping over to Soldier, who still held a paralyzed Engineer and spoke softly to him. “ _Herr_ Soldier, ve should decide how to go at this, I need you to get everyone to ze Briefing room.” 

Soldier sighed and stood up, shooing the doctor away and turned back to kneel in front of Engineer, “Hey,” He murmured, putting a finger under the other’s chin to lift his face up to look at him. Engineer’s eyes were glazed-over and distant-looking, he was looking at Soldier but didn’t seem to acknowledge his presence. Sighing, Soldier pushed down the overwhelming desire to snap at his friend to straighten out, it wouldn’t be right and Engineer wouldn’t even listen anyway. “I’m sorry Del.” He placed a gentle kiss on the Texan’s forehead before he stood up again and turned back to face Medic.

“Alright maggots; Demoman pick yourself up, Sniper, Medic, Heavy get your asses to the Briefing Room!” The American yelled at the few still coherent BLU team members and herded them all out with a few anxious shouts. He turned back to yell at Scout but couldn’t find his voice when he noticed the runner crying quietly into his arms, so instead he pulled out his shotgun and set it on the bench next to Engineer. 

“Don’t worry…I’ll watch ‘im…” The shorter man’s low, cracking voice spoke through as he sat up straighter, still looking lost and unwilling to move, but doing so anyway. “I’ll join ya’ll…I’ll join ya’ll in a bit, alright.” He managed to mumble out, standing up on shaky legs, weak knees, and unwilling feet. It proved to be difficult, but Soldier turned away once again to walk out, only to have a weak, almost inaudible sound stop him; when he turned he saw Engineer cross his arms defensively and rub his eyes. The only sounds in the room were Scout’s quaking sobs and the long breathe that noisily flitted through the mechanic’s nose; there was something with the way Engineer wasn’t looking at him directly that made Soldier step back up to him with nothing but deep-rooted concern for his friend. “Is he really gone, Jane? ...Is Pyro gone…my friend, dammit.” He fell back down to the bench, gripping the sides of his head; the other American followed him right down, sitting next to him.

Soldier opened his mouth to talk but nothing came out, he couldn’t find any form of sentence to appropriately articulate, so he settled for nestling the rim of his Kevlar against Engie’s hardhat and taking the Texan’s hands away from his head. He felt somewhat ridiculous, Soldier did, but he was at the point of not caring about how anyone else thought of him. “I wish I could say otherwise Del, but he’s gone. And I need to keep everyone else in top-shape, alright. When you straighten out come find us.” He explained as sympathetically as possible before standing up and exiting into the hallway towards the Briefing Room, where the problem at hand would be argued for hours but ultimately no one would be coherent enough to decide on anything without requiring another opinion. Engineer never got around to leaving the Resupply room, he tried but his legs wouldn’t take him far, and he ended up next to Scout, neither saying a word.

_._

His room was too warm and it reminded him of Pyro, so he went to the Respawn room but the Firebug’s Home-Wrecker and spare flamethrower were stored there and he couldn’t stand seeing them; so in his silent desperation, Spy crammed himself into the rafters above the Intel. room. The unbearable cold due to the off-lined heater barely made the saboteur shiver, his entire body numbed already, he barely registered any of the many noises that echoed around in the spacious room. He understood he was far-too dignified to cry, even over this, and he would probably refrain from crying for about another couple hours before his body couldn’t sustain the frigid temperature and he passed out.


	2. Goodbye Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where the hurt is.

.2.

Scout woke up early the next day, the sun was barely over the horizon and the young runner was climbing up to the highest point of the BLU base, cautiously staying out of the sunlight in fear of an untimely death. The team was lucky that the kid attributed the entire ordeal to a cruel and unusual punishment by a god his mother once told him to pray to, a god he chose to ignore for a brash lifestyle. In-short, the poor Scout had a mental twitch and returned to his normal, over-energetic self, which worried almost everyone on his team.

He returned to within the base around 8 a.m. with news he was, perhaps, a little-too-excited to deliver. “Yo’ guys,” He called to the older men, Medic and Sniper, standing in the kitchen talking to one-another. “Turns out the RED’s lost their Medic,” The Bostonian youth grabbed a handful of cereal and shoved it in his mouth. “Yeah, and their Scout is dead too. Ha, good thing; that little bitch would’a been hell to deal with.” Another handful of cereal was swallowed and Scout walked out of the kitchen into the common area and sat next to a certain half-frozen saboteur; Spy had been found by Medic earlier that morning, his body beginning to shut-down from the cold he was subject to. After he was checked out, the Frenchman got sat on the couch by Heavy’s strong, but gentle hand, and ended up smoking about 5 cigarettes since he was put there. 

Sniper sighed, bringing his coffee mug up to take a drink, relishing in the near-burning feel of hot coffee running down his throat. “This isn’t good mate,” He mumbled offhandedly to Medic, who had turned with vague interest as Heavy stepped into the common room and was offering a smile-reinforced greeting to Scout and Spy. “There’s gotta be some mistake. Have we tried contacting BLU yet? Any word from Miss Pauling?” He waited for a response but just got a shake of the head before the doctor turned away and stepped out. 

Sniper cursed their luck, cursed the damn Respawn, cursed bloody Builders League United…

He turned to the common area and took a quick glance at everyone there, Medic stood next to Heavy, who leaned on the back of the couch behind Scout, and Scout sat cross-legged on the couch next to Spy who was sitting properly on the couch; not saying a word or reacting to what any of the others said. His stare was blank, as Engineer’s had been the previous night, only Spy’s held some kind of deeper remorse resident of severe emotional trauma; it made Sniper sick to his stomach to see it. Their Spy, normally so cocky, arrogant, and a straight-up snob, keeled over and paralyzed because he lost something, it made Sniper have to look away and stare into his coffee, contemplative of the situation.

And he especially cursed whatever bloody wanker took their Firebug away from them.

A pain, representative of a familial-bond, pinged through the Australian’s chest at the overlying thought of Pyro, and just how-fucking-missed he would be. Another glance up to Spy caused him to bite back a cough to prevent him from spluttering coffee everywhere; mister arrogant-bastard himself was grasping onto Pyro’s engraved lighter as if some insignificant little piece of Pyro was still attached to it. 

Sniper sighed hard, setting down his mug and rubbing his temples; he knew how close the Firebug and their saboteur were, he knew how the sneakiest douchebag ever got along too-well with a brazenly loud-in-battle fire-wielder, and he sure-as-hell knew how much their Spy loved their Pyro. Just thinking about how Spy must feel made the marksman need to lean on the counter for support, oh how he wanted to shower the poor bloke with any amount of condolences.

Down the hall Soldier tapped again on the washroom doors, locked from the inside, and when no answer came he let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the door. “You have to come out Engie, almost everyone is awake, and we need to talk.” He insisted, trying again to use brute strength to break the lock. 

Within the washroom Engineer stood in front of the mirror, hands clenched around the edges of the sink; he had been long-since done washing his face, but he couldn’t find the will to move. “I know…I know partner, I’m sorry.” He forced his head up, and wiped his hand over his face. “Aw,” He rested his forehead into his palm, “You’re really gone…ain’t ja’ buddy.” His voice was weak and quiet and didn’t even fill the condensed, and otherwise silent space of the washroom.

The mechanic finally stepped out of the bathroom, pushing by Soldier and only barely acknowledging the defeated sigh that came out of the general; he did not want to deal with anyone yelling, in fact he didn’t want to even move or be out of his room. Engie stepped into the common room and took notice of a grinning Scout on the sofa, joking with Heavy about something Medic found exasperating. But then his gaze shifts to the runner’s left to Spy, still unmoving and holding fast to a blank expression on his visibly pale features. _Shoot,_ Engineer rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very guilty and selfish. 

“Spah’,” He gently placed a hand on Spy’s shoulder, being just quiet enough not to draw anyone’s attention, save for Sniper who noticed Engie enter the room and hadn’t moved his gaze from the two. The Frenchman moved just his eyes to look at the mechanic; they were surrounded with dark circles and his eyes themselves were bloodshot and distant-looking, but he regained the smallest amount of his composure the moment he was confronted. “I’m sorry.” Engineer said, his voice cracked at an uncomfortable level when he did so, and he had to force down what must have been a sob when he saw the final few walls crumble to ash within their unfeeling saboteur. 

_”Pyro I do not wish to be a part of ‘zis. Ze Engineer, ‘e does not like me.” Spy assured, beginning to step back towards his own room and away from Pyro. The Firebug grabbed the taller man around the waist and began to lead him down the hallway. “I know you two are good friends but zhat does not mean ‘e will appreciate me as well.” Too late though, they both stood at the door of the Texan’s secluded workshop. Pyro stepped in and greeted Engineer with a simple hand-sign and turned outwards towards the Frenchman who still stood awkwardly in the doorway (though he was trying desperately not to look as awkward)._

_“Hey there partner, glad I’m getting’ to meet ‘ja personally. I’m gonna be honest, after the recent hullabaloo with our Firebug here, I never thought I’d be lenient enough to let him out of my sight; ‘specially to be getting’ friendly with the likes of you.” Engineer’s smile betrayed how serious he would have been had the situation not taken a severe 180 and turned for the better. He stepped forward and grabbed Spy’s hand in a firm Texas hand-shake while Pyro stood by, happy his two best friends were finally going to start getting along._

_“Great to meet ‘ja Spah’.”_

After a moment of processing just what it was the Engineer said to him, Spy nodded, forcing a faint smile to his lips. He could barely think due to the recent circumstances, and he put two and two together and figured out that the mechanic should understand at least half of his pain considering his and the Firebug’s long-time friendship. “ _Oui,_ ” Spy choked out, ignoring just how broken he sounded. “I am sorry too.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but Engineer heard him and showed-off a weak grin.

Soldier found his way into the room and had to keep a smile off his face seeing Engineer looking just a bit more uplifted. Though a distant revving sound grabbed everyone’s attention in a second, echoing through the common room and consequentially chilling about half of the team present to the bone; Heavy somewhat instinctively nudged Medic behind him just a tad, and Soldier was next to Engie rather quickly. 

“Aye lads! **Incoming!** ” Demoman bellowed from the stairway banister nearby. Sure enough a moment later a boarded-up window nearby was blown out by a turret of bullets that tear through the comparatively thin metal walls. The revving was louder and a booming voice is accompanying the storm of noise; screaming out in anger and misery was the enemy Heavy, standing opposite the wall by himself firing his Minigun aimlessly into the common room. 

In the tizzy everybody scattered, even Spy got his vigor back and sprang to life, jumping off to the side near Medic and Heavy; who grabbed them both and practically threw the two lighter men down the hallway and out of the way of danger. “ _Nein, Heavy! Tue das nicht!_ ” The German shouted over the noise, running back towards the one-man onslaught while Spy scooted back against the wall, pressing his back against the plaster and not moving. He couldn’t explain the painful beating of his chest, or why he was sweating already, or why for the first time ever he was terrified of getting shot. 

As the bullets continued through the wall, threatening to tag any one of them, Soldier grabbed Engineer around his shoulders and dragged him backwards into the kitchen and next to Sniper. Heavy turned to grab for his gun but was stopped when a couple of the bullets speared his arm and forced him to stall; but the torrent did not stop there and things only got dreadfully worse when Scout, panicking and not processing the thought of _’Duck you moron!’_ , was also shot. 

First it was in the shoulder, it hurt yeah, but Scout had taken way worse and kept running; he cursed the enemy Heavy with a cocky grin, until the grin was wiped off his face by another bullet to his leg that stopped him in his tracks, which then made it easier for another three bullets to riddle his torso. Soldier, having been tagged by a bullet himself but just barely grazing his side, cursed loudly and grabbed his shovel and hurled it forward at the enemy mercenary. It successfully hit him in the head, leaving a sizeable gash and disorientating him, but not enough so that he did not stop unloading another round of bullets into the young Bostonian stood paralyzed and coughing up blood. 

“Heavy you bloody wanker, git your ass back in the damn base!” The RED Sniper yelled, running up behind the Russian and pulling on his shoulder. With a bit of hesitation the Heavy nodded and began running back to the RED base while his Sniper backed up slowly with his rifle scope up to his eye to provide cover fire if needed. He would never tell his team, but he had the BLU Engineer in his crosshairs for about 3 seconds but could not pull the trigger; he was too reminded of his Engineer.

Medic was by Heavy’s side before he could even sit down, concerned German words finding their way from his mouth as he moved his partner’s sleeve out of the way and immediately pulled out a pair of tweezers to remove the bullets. Soldier turned to make sure both Sniper and Engineer were alright, glad to see they were, but not so glad to see a destroyed look cover the mechanic’s face as he stood and walked forward. “Engie wait,” Soldier stopped him and blocked his view of what he knew was a slaughtered Scout behind him. 

“You let me by son,” Engineer demanded darkly, his helmet obscuring the view of his eyes.

“Del please just-“

“Let me by Doe.” 

Admitting defeat to the shorter mercenary, Soldier begrudgingly stepped aside and ran a hand through his hair under his helmet. Sniper sprang forward as well, skidding to a stop next to the mutilated runner on the floor, “ _Crickey,_ ” He gently lifted Scout’s hat from in front of his face and his stoic heart broke when a pair of brilliant sea-blue eyes looked up at him in pain. “Scout…” No he wasn’t going to cry, of course not, but his teeth were ground together almost painfully and a prickling feeling stung the back of his eyes. 

“I deserved it…d-don’t worry…” The Bostonian choked out along with a surmountable amount of blood. Engineer and Sniper gave him an odd, sympathetic look; Medic stepped over and went to lift the runner but was stopped by the dying party. 

“Scout ve need to move you…I need to get to work! I…I…” Medic’s voice cracked and faltered as he took in the mutilated sight before him and sighed. He stood up and placed a gloved hand over his face, rubbing his temples and stepping back over to Heavy, to make sure at least he was alright. It physically pained him to force himself away like that, to have to admit defeat, to have to admit he could not save the young American; his Medigun would not help, the kid was hanging on to nothing but the fleeting will to say goodbye to the family he so much preferred over the one he was born into. 

A strained cough shook Scout’s body, “Yeah,” He spit off to the side before turning his head up to look at his older teammates again. “I…I killed his Medic. R-right in front of him…I-I didn’t think it w-would be permanent. I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry…” Another cough and his eyes began to flutter closed. Engineer grabbed either side of the runner’s face and pressed his thumbs into his cheeks. Scout forced his eyes open one more time, glancing back to Heavy and Medic, who turned towards them at the mention of their enemy counterparts. “I w-woulda’ never done it to you doc’.” 

Medic went to say something but couldn’t find his voice, so instead nodded; he knew if he tried to talk he wouldn’t be able to form any viable sentence, and he didn’t want to hear how his voice sounded. His gaze rose to Heavy and his saddened look directed at Scout, and it hurt his patched-up heart and scared him further; that could have easily been him dead, and it could have been his Heavy going bat-shit because of it. Through his turbulent thoughts, Medic barely registers a strong hand setting itself on his shoulder and pulling him against a warm body. “I am glad it was not you Doktor,” The embrace was unexpected and the German could not stop a small sound of surprise from slipping out; furthermore he could not keep the blush off his face when Heavy leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “I do not know how I would be reacting.” Medic smiled and welcomed the warmth of his partner’s body for just a moment, able to forget the stilled chaos around him for a fleeting time.

“Hey,” Scout choked out quietly. “I’ll tell Pyro _’hi’_ for ya’.” He grinned.

“Scout…” Engineer beckoned quietly, barely catching another glimpse of the runner’s big blue eyes before they closed, and his chest stopped rising, and the unmatched zeal the Bostonian gave off filtered out of the world almost as quickly as he ran. “Scout…?” This time there was no cocky smirk, no arrogant sass, no stupid joke…nothing. 

He did not want to stay there, he did not want to deal with any of this anymore; and as tears fell over his cheeks he missed his little house back in Bee Cave even more. He missed his ma’ and his sister, and her son and daughter, he missed the turkey dinners they used to have; all Engie wanted to do was pack up his stuff, get Soldier and the rest of the team, and leave. 

Sniper found himself feeling no-less hurt, he willed himself not to cry, no matter how much his heart wanted to, no matter how many times he had to rub his eyes because _’There was something in them.’_ , no matter how many memories he would have to forget, and no matter how many pictures would need to be removed from his collection he’d kept over the years; because professionals don’t cry. 

Medic hastily removed the body from the middle of the common room, after waiting a few minutes hoping in-vain that maybe Respawn would kick-in again; no such luck followed, and he had Heavy take the body into the Medical Wing while he stayed and began sterilizing the common room. His Russian compatriot returned to help shortly thereafter, taking over the majority of the task once he realized how Medic was not comprehending anything he was doing. “Doktor,” He mumbled quietly, reaching over to place a large, but gentle hand on the German’s shoulder; he pulled back when Medic flinched under the touch, seemingly yanked out of some stupor. Heavy almost recoiled himself as his eyes met Medic’s, the doctor looked so drained of life, so completely wrecked, it hurt Heavy just to sit there and see it.

He moved forward slowly and pulled the smaller man into a comforting hug; Medic’s form offered no resistance and flopped against the other’s broad chest. “Is not your fault Dieter,” Heavy rubbed his friend’s back, ignoring how the form in his arms tensed in the slightest; his embrace only tightened as a shaky breathe found its way from Medic’s nose.

“I know zhat,” Medic mumbled, pulling himself back and away and standing up. He drew the cleanser up as well, holding it tightly in his hand as he stepped away, “I just zhink I could have done more.” He tried to assure himself he was not upset, or that the blood on his arms was not Scout’s, or that the feeling fluttering around in his stomach and chest was anything but unbridled concern. Yes he was completely bullshitting himself in doing so, but it allowed him to keep his dignity; and even as he was coddled by Heavy, he felt slightly less pathetic. 

Heavy watched forlornly as his Doctor walked out of the room, barely looking where he was going as he disappeared down the hallway. He had never felt empty before, he previously thought it impossible; but watching Medic leaving so uncharacteristically melancholic left the Russian with the emptiest feeling he had ever experienced. _“Ni bispakOytis’ Не беспокойтесь…”_ Heavy sighed as he refrained from following the other. _“SpakOynay nOchi i priYAtnyh snOf Спокойной ночи и приятных снов.”_ He mumbled quietly to himself; he felt Medic was secure enough when he shut and locked the door to the Medical Bay down the hall, and retired to his own quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can choose to ignore the personalization with their "real" names if you wish, I just feel it adds some more profound connections between the characters. And I'd really love Medic's name to be Dieter, it fits him so well, at least it does to me. (Don't argue his name is Claude Huggins because it's not)
> 
> I'm sure you can pick out many ship in this particular chapter if you squint.  
> The story has been moving a bit fast the last two chapters but it will slow down; in a suspenseful, everyone-is-sad kind of way.
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed, I will update soon, constructive criticism is always welcome!  
> ((And excuse my terrible attempt at Russian, you may correct me if you know better. ^^))


	3. The Team now lives in an Unhappy House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no way things could possibly get any worse.

.3.

The rest of the day was completely silent, eerily so; with neither Scout running their mouths in either base, there was no energy left on 2Fort. The BLU base was motionless but there was something in the air that was much thicker than the looming sense of dread. 

Engineer had not moved for 3 hours after the incident, and still refused to move his room two days later; having pushed himself into the corner of his old, creaky bed, ignoring any and all of his obligations as well as Soldier’s constant pounding on his door. He knew it was terrible of him to ignore the general as he was (he recalled forlornly how Scout used to call such an attitude a _’Homo King move.’_ ) but he could not find himself to face Soldier without breaking down. He mumbled “Leave me alone.” Again, knowing full-well Soldier could not hear him. 

“Engineer, you can’t stay in your room, we need to get our asses out there and finish off those damn REDs once and for all!” 

It took the Texan less than 5 seconds to realize what his companion had said, rush to the door, open it, and punch Soldier in the chin. 

“Are you **crazy** son? We are not leaving this base! Not while Respawn ain’t workin’!” He had lost what little self-control he had left and he cornered the taller man against the wall, his un-obscured eyes glaring angrily whilst they simultaneously welled with tears at the mere prospect of losing anyone else. “You have a _death wish_ if you want to go out there! The enemy Heavy will riddle you with holes before you can even pull the trigger on your stupid rocket launcher!” Engineer shoved his finger in Soldier’s face continuously, turning his torso away and back towards him with every sentence. His shoulders trembled and he was angry, oh yes was he furious at just about everything at the time. “You’re-you’re crazy! Why would you even want to go out there you stupid…you stupid idiot?!” 

Engineer clenched his fists, seemingly ready to strike out, but all his potential zeal was gone as soon as he made the motion, and his fist merely tapped and rested against Soldier’s chest. His entire body quaked now, and Soldier, having been silenced by the mechanic’s uncharacteristic tirade, went to embrace his companion, only to have his arms shoved away. “I don’t get it; do you want to make the team suffer anymore? How far do I have to fall before you’ll realize this needs to stop before it gets any worse!?” He ignored how he had said _’I’_ as opposed to _’we’_ and substituted a correction in favor of breathing deeply as he tried to clear his mind.

That time he let Soldier’s strong, but uncharacteristically gentle, arms drape around his shaking frame and hold him tightly. Engineer could not tell how hard he was crying, his world had gotten really dark and really quiet the past few days and he could no longer tell up from down, and he no longer had full control of his body. So when Soldier walked him back into his room and sat him down on his own bed, Engie offered no resistance. The creak of the mattress indicated the taller man taking a seat next to him, an arm around his shoulders, and no other sound aside from the shaky, hindered breathes the mechanic filtered through his running nose. His head was pounding and his entire body hurt, and without Soldier holding him up with his arm, engineer would probably be able to do little more than fall over and cry.

It was not fair, Engineer thought, none of it was; especially not losing the two youngest members on the team before anyone even comprehended what was going on, and most likely in ways when said team members felt completely secure. Pyro, upon further inspection by a freshly-vengeful Spy, was offed during the heat of any-old battle by the enemy Sniper; though the Firebug’s death was not as _efficient_ as most of the marksman’s kills, which upset most everyone in BLU’s base once they found out. Scout barely knew what was going on to begin with, and odds are felt invincible inside their base and surrounded by his _family_. 

“I’m sorry Del,” Soldier finally piped up, his grip tightened around his shorter friend and he easily turned him around to face him, moving the other’s hardhat out of the way to find his pale greyish, bloodshot eyes looking back at him. With a great stride and a deep breathe the general continued, “No amount of remorse or blubbering is going to bring either of them back. You should use your remorse Engie, turn it into anger against those goddamn REDs.” His tone changed drastically, and he gripped the mechanic’s shoulders a bit more harshly after he used his thumb to wipe the tears from under Engie’s eyes. 

He may have been experiencing the early stages of depression, but he was still far-more clear-headed than the American general, and he shook his head sagely. “That’s not how we should go at it Jane, it’s…it’s not right. They’re just like us; pro’lly scared and angry, but who are we ta’ start anything?” The mechanic attempted to reason with his friend, but his voice was barely above a loud whisper and Soldier barley contemplated the greater part of what Engie said before he shot to his feet. 

“Alright, I can get the team together! Del-“ He turned back to the despaired Texan and kissed him strongly, the surprise itself forced Engineer to recoil backwards a bit. “Don’t you worry yourself.” Soldier smiled and hurried himself out the door. 

“Soldier wait-!” But he was too late. Engineer sighed hard and pinched the bridge of his nose, falling back into the corner of his bed he was held up in previously. _That idiot is gonna get someone killed…_ He thought in an irritated manner, though not without the lingering sense of fear. _Please…Please don’t let that come ta’ pass…_

_._

“Zis is madness Herr Soldier! Ve at least need a solid plan,” Medic’s voice was nothing more than a wisp of air in Soldier’s ears as the American began loading up on his usual supply of grenades, bullets, and rocket amo. The German followed hurriedly behind him, urging him to reconsider (Multiple times did he bring up Engineer, in hopes the thought of the Texan’s displeasure towards the decision would turn Soldier’s own. No such luck with that method.) Heavy lumbered into the room with Sniper behind him, who was mumbling his displeasure about being disturbed by a shouting American and consequentially getting a throbbing headache. “Doktor, maybe is good idea to attack them; before they attack us.” Heavy murmured to his friend, who looked like he was about to punch Soldier square between his eyes. He placed an oversized hand on the German’s shoulders and pulled him away from the American, still shoving ammunition into his pouches. “Think about Scout, Dieter. He was killed during time of inaction; perhaps is time to take action. Regardless of what you decide, I will not let my counterpart off so easily for killing our Scout.” A hint of terrifying anger slipped into the Russian’s heavily accented voice, and Medic noticed a faint tightening of his grip on his shoulder.

Sniper, stood against the wall nearby, quirked an eyebrow and intently noticed both Heavy’s true, though somewhat uncharacteristic anger, and Medic’s name. “Dieter?” Sniper mumbled. Something about knowing his name, knowing any of their names made the Bushman feel integrated into their lives; being easily the most distant of the team, he was not very close to any of them, though he knew quite a lot thanks to his constant surveillance. 

Medic looked his way, an unsure look on his features; completely sure Sniper would ridicule his name in some way. “ _Ja, das ist_ my name.” He agreed carefully. 

The Australian straightened his hat and in a push of self-confidence he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Oi’m Sean Mundy, but back home anyone who knows me just calls me Mundy.” 

“Sean?” Medic made a valiant attempt not to grin, and just barely succeeded as he shook the Australian’s hand.

“Eh, ‘s my granddad’s name. Died the day before oi was born, my mum thought it appropriate to continue his legacy in me.” With that tasking social contact out of the way, Sniper retreated back against the wall and crossed his arms. 

Soldier rolled his eyes and snatched Medic’s Crusaders Crossbow and shoved it into the German’s hands, “Alright ladies, if you’re done gettin’ to know each other I suggest you get ready!” He shouted at Medic and Sniper before he turned to his locker to grab his Black Box rocket launcher. “Speaking of ladies; where in the name Woodrow Wilson are the rest of you maggots?” 

Almost on-cue, Demoman trudged into the Resupply room with a broken bottle in hand and a sizeable slice on his opposing hand. “Aye lad I’m right here.” He slurred, trying to grin but ultimately failing. Medic took his arm and pulled him over to inspect the cut.

“Vat on Earth did you do?” He wondered aloud as he pulled out some gauze and began to dab around the cut. 

The Scott jerked away and patted the German’s arm, “I’m fine Medic, jus’ a little cut. I tripped and busted me bottle of Scrumpy, cuttin’ ma’ bloody arm in the process.” He assured as he wiped the blood from the back of his forearm, and pulled his white sleeve over the offending area. Medic went to insist he treat the cut when Engineer appeared in the doorway, sluggishly and downcast as he had been the past few days. Everyone present looked at him expectantly as he paused in the doorway, save for Demo, who had gone to retrieve a new bottle of scrumpy. 

“Hey, I- uhm, well I just wanted to…” Engie sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want ta’ loose anyone else ya’know. So…be careful, protect each other.” He tried to force one of his signature grins but it came out as a weak smile. “You’ll have mah’ Dispenser, I won’t risk putting a teleporter up; too much uncertainty. And I only have enough metal to get mah’ sentry to a level two,” Engineer cursed his luck, and he felt useless, unable to function at full efficiency. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.” He recoiled into himself, crossing his arms and pushing against the doorframe. 

Demoman scoffed from his place across the room, “Are ya’ kiddin’ me lad? You’re pro’lly the most useful of us all.” His fresh bottle of Scrumpy apparently lightened his mood considerably, and a wide grin was plastered on his face. “Who cares if yer’ Sentry isn’t level three, and we don’t need a stinkin’ Teleporter, and let’s face it; the only downside to your Dispenser is that it isn’t walkin’ around healin’ us and restocking our supplies. If it did, we wouldn’t need our bloody Medic!” He motioned to the resident doctor nearby who could not disagree and nodded. The demolitions expert stepped up to the mechanic. “You’re a huge credit to our team Engie, don’t think too little of yourself.” He patted Engineer on the shoulder, a content grin on his face, before stepping back by his locker. 

“Right,” Engineer mumbled modestly. A new drive allowed him to rummage through his, strangely messy locker and pull out every bit of refined metal he could find; his wrench and other tools were poured unceremoniously into the pouch on his belt, and he snatched his spare goggles from the top shelf of his locker and eagerly placed them around his head.

Soldier perhaps seemed a bit more zealous, perhaps seeing Engineer on-board with the assault was that little emotional security (or maybe lack thereof) he needed to lead them all out. “Okay, now that Engie is on-board can you _please_ get your asses ready to fight?!” Soldier insisted, as he shifted his Black Box around on his shoulder impatiently. They all nodded hesitantly and began moving throughout the room, collecting their obscure weaponry and packing-themselves down with mounds of ammunition, Medic more so worrying himself with preparation of his Medigun and whatever remaining power could be pulled out of it. 

Soldier stepped over to Engineer who, he was happy to note, was still smiling somewhat goofily as he packed up his gear. The general turned the mechanic towards him and gave him a lighthearted hug, though he quickly pulled back, hugging not being normal to him. “Thanks Del,” Soldier mumbled to his shorter companion, kissing his forehead just under his hardhat. “I’ll kill them all before they can lay a finger on our team.” He smiled when Engineer chuckled and patted his shoulder.

“I know ya’ will partner.”

Nearby, Sniper rolled his eyes but could not keep a small grin from pulling at the corners of his mouth; _Del, his name is Del._ “Hey,” He came to a realization with mild interest. “Where’s the Spook?” Almost everyone looked to share a similar inquiry but no-one had an answer.

“He’s-uh…I don’t think he’ll be joining us. Still a bit shaken up ya’ know.” Engineer seemed confused with his own statement as a further stuttered to try and emulate the correct words. “Well, he hasn’t left his bloomin’ room; I don’t know what to make of it.” He mumbled to the ground. Subconsciously he understood why Spy was not there, he knew why he hadn’t seen Spy in the past two days, not even at dinner; he understood coming to terms with loss was a terrible, surreal experience; and Spy was experiencing the merciless brunt of the situation.

Without Pyro, and without Scout, the BLU base was not the same; they brought some kind naïve life to the team that had just filtered out through the vents the moment they were both dead. Engineer, what limited time he spent outside his room, made it a point to study each of his team member and how each of them were coping. 

Spy had not been seen after Scout was killed, Medic had gone looking once out of worry for the saboteur’s health; while at the same time Heavy was needing to constantly console the doctor to keep him stable-minded. If it was possible Sniper had gotten even more distant, but at the same time never seemed to be closer to the team, even being open enough to share his name. Demoman had not changed too much, but did not seem as exuberant as he once was, even though his alcohol intake was at least doubled as-of-late. Furthermore the only true concern Soldier shown was for Engineer and his mental state, but otherwise did not relinquish his rash abandon for his own, and the BLU team’s lives. 

When Soldier finally got everybody to leave the base to attack they were surprised to be met with the RED team midway, the two teams clashed as if there was nothing wrong with the world; granted there was a strange lack of annoying Bostonians running around, and there was one less Pyro, and it seemed as though the RED’s Medic was nowhere to be seen. 

In the air there was a sense of familiarity and comfort, for a lack of a better term, it was almost normal.

Engineer, however, could barely find the will in his arms to set up his sentry; it was painfully obvious he could never bring himself to outright kill a man for no good reason. Now if he saw the enemy Sniper or Heavy, you better bet they would get a few bullets to the face. But just then, standing almost mindlessly against the wall, the mechanic could not put up his sentry, and in a futile attempt at distracting himself he set up a dispenser next to him. 

The healing fumes cradled his exhausted body and made him feel just a bit safer, though he knew any hope of real protection out here was futile. He pulled his knees close to his chest and curled himself into a tight ball, almost completely hidden behind his dispenser. In the air was an eerie sort of somber silence, he could hear the distinct shouts of both team’s Soldiers in the distance, but there were no blood-curdling screams as per the norm.

And no longer was there an Administrator to guide them or scream insults over the loudspeaker, Engineer kicked himself for even allowing his team out of his sight; no word from Mann Co. and not a peep from the few higher-ups any of them actually knew. _We’ve just been left here to die._ The mechanic thought grimly, pulling his legs impossibly closer to his chest. 

An unmistakable shuffling sound echoed around the bend of the buildings, and an almost inaudible gasp of pain followed it in-synch. Engineer had to decide whether to press his back into the fence and hide, or grab for his shotgun stored next to his Dispenser; and he was surprised with his own body when the later came to pass and he stood with a loaded shotgun pointed at a terrible-looking RED Sniper.

How the enemy marksman had gotten back there behind everyone was beyond Engineer, but a newfound sense of anger and vengeance welled up inside of him, and gave him the strength to grab a handful of the Sniper’s red shirt and throw his back against the fence. 

“You have about 5 seconds to tell me what yer’ doin' back here,” Engineer hesitated, grinding his teeth together almost painfully. “And why in the name of Mary and Joseph you decided to kill mah' little Firebug in the most agonizing way someone with your quick and efficient skill could muster.”

The RED Sniper was honestly terrified, he stuttered around his words for a moment before he cleared his throat; he would not admit to stepping on his own Demoman’s sticky bombs and getting blown halfway across 2fort.

“Look, oi’m sorry about the Pyro, alroight!” He said hurriedly. Engineer was, so-far, not impressed, and pushed the muzzle of his shotgun closer to the marksman’s face. “Oi walked out’a Resupply and he wos passing by.” He swallowed hard. “He wos trying to char me to bits, it’s hard to be efficient when someone is trying to _burn me to a bloody crisp!_ ” Again he took a shaky breath, “Oi never would’a done it had I know the effects were permanent…family is important to me too, mate.”

Engineer did not like the Sniper’s tone and pressed the end of the shotgun against the enemy’s throat, pleased when the angry glare on his face morphed quickly into unbridled fear. The mechanic stood there silently, his finger literally twitching on the trigger; never before had he wanted to kill someone so badly.

It was only when the Sniper dared to look at him that Engineer lost most of his eager desire to kill him; for someone who was so stoic and distant, the Sniper looked absolutely terrified. His eyes were panicked and Engie noticed, with an indifferent pang in his heart, that they were the same color as his Sniper’s eyes; angular and grassy green hidden behind tinted aviators. 

“Please Truckie,” The Australian murmured, again pulling the mechanic out of his stupor. “Oi want to see my team again…” 

That did it for Engineer and he released his grip on the other completely; shakily he stepped back and put a hand on his Dispenser. He realized quickly that he was not the only man on 2fort who loved his team and everyone on it; and that taking any one of them away, like his Pyro and his Scout had been taken, was selfish and cruel.

“Count yer’self lucky boy,” Engineer mumbled offhandedly, reaching out and grasping the enemy Sniper’s hand. “And please stay safe, all of ye’.” The Sniper nodded quickly; there was an ever-thankful gleam in his eyes that portrayed more than words could. Once the Australian was out of sight, having hobbled back into his own base safely, Engineer breathed a sigh of relief.

After it had happened, he was quite glad he did not kill anybody.

However at the front lines, things seemed a little different; Soldier was mercilessly firing at the REDs and mostly missing, save for a few minor accounts of dealt splash damage. Neither Heavy was using their miniguns, but instead fired using their shotguns from a strangely far distance. The BLU Medic was basically forced to remain behind everyone, and had little to do except fire a few spastic shots into the fray with his Crusaders Crossbow. 

He surveyed both his team and the RED team closely from his covered placement; he almost laughed at how strange most everyone was acting, being overly-cautious and no one honestly wanting to kill or be killed. Save perhaps for both team’s Soldiers and the RED’s Demoman. 

Something caught Medic’s peripheral vision and he turned to see a very injured RED Sniper trekking against the front side of the RED base; his rifle was nowhere to be seen, and he was leaning heavily on the wall for much-needed support. Curiously Medic eyed him as he walked and eventually made contact with his team’s Engineer, who reacted frantically; first with a surprised gasp, and then he pulled the much taller man down to hug him furiously. The Engineer ushered his injured teammate into their base, where it was obvious a Dispenser was functioning.

Sometime during the encounter he was watching, a stray rocket blew up near Medic’s position and obscured his vision for a few moments as he ducked behind a rock to remain safe; he would not put money on it, but the Engineer seemed to kiss his Sniper quickly before he ushered him away. A useless fact, but an interesting one no doubt. 

“Doktor! You are okay?” The BLU Heavy called as he ran up to Medic, sporting a gunshot wound in his bicep. The doctor _tutted_ the injury and held his friend’s arm carefully, wiping away the leaking blood with his gloved fingers. 

“ _Ja, ja. Ich bin gut._ You are the one I am vorried about,” He was scolding the heavy weapons expert, but there was an unmistakable, underlying tone of amusement in his voice; countless times had they done this exact ritual, and this time around it only supported the feeling of normality in the air. Medic smirked at Heavy’s hearty chuckle, humoring the Russian as he slung a massive arm around the doctor’s shoulder and kissed the top of his head again. He did not suppose he would ever get used to that.

“MEDIC!” 

So accustomed to getting summoned, Medic spun around quickly and stuck his torso from behind the rocks and fencing he was placed behind; he was able to see BLU Soldier forcing himself behind a fence further up towards the front line. “Hang on _Herr Soldat!_ ” Heavy offered cover for his Medic as they ran towards Soldier, Medic kneeling down next to the American and pushing his arms away to reveal the injury. “ _Mein Got!_ ” The gaping hole in the general’s shoulder took even Medic aback; he judged from the size of the hole (which was about 3 or 4 inches in diameter) that he would need immediate medical attention, less he bleed out within the hour. 

Heavy looked worried as well and willingly handed Medic his walkie-talkie when the shorter man beckoned for it with a swift hand motion. “Team I suggest ve fall back. Our Soldier is badly injured and requires care as soon as possible.” The BLU’s got the message and began an eventual retreat, firing off a few cover shots for their retreating companions. 

“NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE! YOU THINK I’M GONNA LET THIS COMPANY RETREAT JUST BECAUSE OF-“ Soldier could not even finish his tirade as even Medic’s light touch brought him surmountable pain. 

“Engineer,” The German continued over the walkie-talkie on Engineer’s frequency; he took a deep breath before addressing the Texan. “Soldier is critically injured, I vould suggest disassembling your buildings and returning to our base as soon as you can.” Foreseeing a frenzy of panicked questions he continued. “He is fine but I need your help vhen ve get him back; your Dispenser technology may help bring my Medigun back to full capacity.” Calmly he added, “Do not panic Engie; _Herr Soldat_ vill be just fine.” He allowed a small smile to pull at his lips, even though he was not face-to-face with the Engineer.

Medic tucked the walkie-talkie back into Heavy’s pocket and went back to assuming a quick field-check of the American’s condition, quite unhappy with what he saw. About then the BLU Demoman came running by in his retreat and stopped next to the group of his three teammates, a newly worried expression replacing the mid-battle grin he held. “Aw cripe, Soldier!” He very nearly dropped his sword as he kneeled by his friend.

“ _Herr Demo_ can you assist Soldier back into the base?” Medic asked hurriedly, trying to latch his Crusaders Crossbow into his belt loop as quickly as possible. 

Demoman nodded and pulled Soldier’s arm over his shoulder before being pushed away, “MAGGOTS! I DON’T NEED THE HELP OF YOU LOWLIFE HIPPIE SC- _AH FUCK!_ ” The general barely got to his feet when he jerked his torso and sent a paroxysm of pain through his body, enough to bring him back down on one knee. 

The Scottsman next to him smirked , “Yeah, sure thing boy-o.” This time he insisted as he pulled Soldier’s arm around his shoulder and began to help him towards the BLU base. Demo did not stop smirking when Soldier did not speak, obviously caught between embarrassment and unspoken gratitude. Though when an almost inaudible grunt, which could only be described as pained, found its way through the American’s clenched teeth Demoman’s smirk fell. Soldier’s steps became shaky and his vision wobbly; blood continued to soak the front of his blue coat and drip onto the ground wherever they stepped. 

“Hang on lad, I got ye’,” Demoman assured quietly, half-tempted to just carry the general to the base; sure he would be unwilling and be screaming all the way, but Demo knew how crucial it was to conserve energy when one is dangerously injured. Walking like that was forcing his veins to pump blood to move his afflicted body, ergo Soldier was losing blood far more quickly than his body could replenish; which was not good.

After what seemed like a thousand years every BLU member was back in their base; Heavy quickly locked the large metal doors before returning to the medical wing to assist the doctor. While Demoman led Soldier into the infirmary, Engineer was trying to straighten himself out as he quietly hyperventilated whilst going through his toolbox. The remaining members of the team shifted around awkwardly; it was once Pyro’s place to console the mechanic, but that was not an option. 

Sniper finally gave in and lingered over near Engineer, eventually kneeling by him and hesitantly placing an arm around his shoulder; unsure of exactly what it was he should say. “Hey Truckie,” He got no response. “Soldier ‘ll be alroight, he’s tougher than the rest of us.” That did not phase the cloud of worry blanketing Engineer, so boldly Sniper squeezed the mechanic’s shoulders, side-hugging him reassuringly. “If anything he’ll hold out for you, mate.” 

That got Engie to chuckle quietly, which made Sniper smile in accomplishment and stand back up to return to his own business. “Slim,” The quiet call caught the Australian’s attention and he turned back around, “Thanks.” Engineer smiled. Sniper tipped his hat respectively and took his leave.

Engineer was not exactly relieved of his insurmountable worry for Soldier, but he was genuinely consoled at least somewhat by the marksman. Medic did not allow him into the medical bay after his initial help with suiting up the Medigun (Which ultimately failed. Without Respawn, a good deal of Medic’s Mann Co. equipment was out of service) and being unable to check on the general’s condition himself left Engineer with a lot on his mind and an inability to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you squint you can tell how much I appreciate Trucks N' Vans.  
> Anyway I do hope you enjoyed, constructive criticism is always welcome. And thank you so much for reading.


	4. Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More sad mercenaries

.4.

As the previous nights had been, the BLU base was quiet; Medic was sitting at his desk in the medical wing, trying to do his work but could not find his hand to write more than a sentence at a time before he had to put his pen down and rub his head. His fingers were rough against his skin because of the dried blood that caked the expanse of each digit. The procedure on Soldier had been successful; his severed veins had been either patched or closed to the best of Medic’s ability, and even though the bleeding was stopped, the German felt terrible. 

Just being in the spacious medical win was terrible on his confidence, due to the fact that it was cold and filled with menacing tools and crates that made Medic feel about 3 inches tall. He began to think about the team as whole for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, and why this happened to them; though he supposed it was also happening to the RED team as well, but regardless it was happening to them. Medic was probably the least religious person he ever knew, but he could not help but wonder if there was an omnipotent, or perhaps many omnipotent powers watching over them. And if there were, why would they do that to them, Medic cursed, why would any power allow things to boil down to this chaos and death. He knew they were mercenaries, and to the outside word they were mindless killing machines who did whatever they could to feel blood run between their fingers; but the truth was that none of that was exactly true. Yes, Medic would be the first to admit that most of them did enjoy what they did, and they hated the REDs (though it was as-per orders that they did) but it was all just a job. Each of them had someone to provide for, weather that be for themselves or a family back home; they were all normal people aside from their peculiar occupation.

So why, the resident doctor wondered into the inherit silence of the room, why would anyone allow this to happen to two groups of perfectly normal people. The question just caused Medic to smirk, thinking about how completely not-normal so many of them actually are; and just how extraordinary his team was that made them not-normal. He used himself as a prime example; an almost absurd fascination with new ways to improve the human body, and how to alter it to the better; anyone he met thought he was a freak, but Mann. Co. apparently did not think so. 

Mann. Co. saw how not-normal they were and chose each one of them by hand to do this job for very specific reasons, despite the trivial reasons for that in the first-place. Again Medic chuckled; he knew he was getting off-topic with himself, though he supposed that anything that kept his mind off of their current situation was a welcome pleasantry.

“Hey Doc’…?” The soft Texan drawl drifted through the empty air of the room to catch Medic’s attention.

“Yes Engie?” 

“He’s gonna be alright, ain’t he? I know you’ve told me about a million times,” Engineer hesitated, running his fingers deftly over Soldier’s hand, which lay motionless on the medical berth along with the rest of him. 

The doctor allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth, he stood up and headed over, “ _Ja_ Engie, he vill be fine. In fact, I suspect the moment he avakes he vill go right back to being zhe loud mouthed general ve all know.”

Engineer merely turned his head back towards Soldier and sighed, “That’s what I’m afraid of…” He mumbled so quietly Medic could not hear. 

“Engineer,” The doctor began, pulling up a spare chair and sitting down in front of the Texan. “ _Was ist los?_ I vould think you’d be happy that he is okay, und zhat no one got killed today.” He wondered quietly, straightening the cuffs of his shirt. 

Visually deflated, the mechanic rested his elbow on the edge of the bed, “I am, believe me. I don’t know how I would’a handled it had we lost anyone today. But…”He stopped, seemingly struggling with his words. “But I’m just so worried about ‘im Doc’!” The Engineer’s voice raised a few octaves in contrast to his almost inaudible mumble. “He’s hard headed and loud, and pushes his luck more times that a drunken Irishman in a British pub. And don’t git me wrong, I love him for it, but…I have to worry, _constantly_. Cos….cos if I don’t, he certainly won’t worry about himself.” Engineer planted his head in his hands for a moment before looking back over to a still-sleeping Soldier in the bed next to him. “He has no concern for his own well-bein’…I can’t lose ‘im Doc’. I’ve already lost everything else.”

Medic did not say a word for a few minutes, preferring instead to sit in a contemplative silence and process the thought. He could partially understand where Engineer was coming from, he thought about his family in Germany and losing almost all of them to the war.   
When he had come here, he was stoic and uncaring about anything and anyone; everyone else’s troubles meant nothing to him. Though the Russian, who was hired to be Medic’s partner, seemed to evoke tame neutrality from the doctor he had not expressed since the war ended. 

Medic had wanted to be angry at him, Heavy did not seem to be a Soviet, but what he had learned was that no one from Russia was good. It was because of them that the doctor’s homeland was separated; it was because of the Soviets that his family was dead and Medic was forced to find a way out of East Germany. He was quick to sneer at Heavy the day they met, though it had not taken long for the Russian to win over his heart.

So, Medic sighed, he could partially understand; if Heavy were to be so terribly injured he would sleep even less than he already did, it would probably eat him out from the inside. “I know Engie,” He placed a firm but friendly hand on Engineer’s shoulder. “But you haven’t lost us.” His voice was a tad bit chipper, excited in its own way to reassure the Texan that the BLUs would always be there, as long as they all lived. To that Engineer grinned and tipped his helmet in thanks.

_._

“Aye, it is a big bunch’a hooey.” Demoman shrugged, throwing back another shallow gulp of Scrumpy. “What d’ya think’ll happen if Helen or Miss Pauling don’t come ta’ help?” He asked quietly, offering his bottle to Sniper only to get his hand shooed away. 

The Autralian quirked an eyebrow, “Helen?” 

“The Announcer, ya’know; the lassie that goes on the speakers ta’ yell at us.” Demo explained, waving his hand around, trying to express his point.

“Ah,” Sniper nodded, “Well, oi dun’know mate. Maybe once a few more of ‘em doi, then maybe we’ll be able to call a truce, least until this mess is sorted out.” His fingers kept idly drumming on his knee and his leg bounced, both motions caught the Scott’s attention.

Demo quirked an eyebrow, “Why’re ye’ doin’ that lad?” He inquired as he motioned towards Sniper’s leg. 

The marksman forced his leg to stop bouncing and shrugged, “My mum said it wos anxiety when oi wos younger.” He mumbled, reaching for his bottle of beer sitting nearby. They sat quietly for a few minutes, idly drinking, and Demoman humming between drinks. 

Sniper found it odd that even their resident drunkard was so affected by the ordeal, he would have guessed that Demoman would shrug it all off as an alcohol-induced fantasy. But it was obvious that some grand speculation allowed Demo the insight to understand the terrible situation the team had been thrust into. He was far from his usual oblivious self, though he was not melancholic, Sniper noted; it was an in-between area that may be normal for some people, but when applied to Demoman it was, actually near-heartbreaking.

It took almost all he had left of his stoic, and uncaring nature to not console the demolitions expert until he was his chipper, albeit _drunken_ self again. His obscene shanties had been lulled down into more of a forlorn melody that very nearly crumbled Sniper’s shriveled heart every time he decided to sing one when the marksman was nearby.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Sniper looked out the window to the cloudless night sky above, hoping he could just forget the chaos encircling them; hoping that he could close his eyes and when he opened them he would be back in the bush, or with his mum and dad. After a few futile attempts, he quickly decimated that hope.

“I sure miss ‘im…” Demoman mumbled, his lips pressed against the open-mouth of his bottle; the words came out as a quiet, breathy sentence that, had Sniper not been so accustomed to hearing the slightest of noises, he probably would not have heard.

Sniper turned his head back towards the inside, casting a glance at his companion. “Heh, who’re ya’ missin’ mate? Surely can’t be Scout.” The topic of their dead teammates was very much still a sensitive subject, and Sniper himself had barely registered the events regardless; he assumed Pyro and Scout were ready and waiting to play a prank on Medic, as per the norm. However he was beginning to accept that they would not be playing anymore tricks on Medic, no more booby-trapping Soldier’s Black Box, and no more stealing Spy’s disguise kit to mess with everyone.

“Naw Pyro of course,” Demo chuckled, starring at his feet instead of looking at Sniper. “I just…” He stopped, breathing shakily, “I jus’ remember when our wee little Firebug used to sit around here with me, tryin’ ta’ teach me how ta’sign,” The ghost of a smile played over his lips. “I would never shut up long enough ta’ listen. He always listened ta’ me though, and I know how hard that is ta’ do; this Scott’s about as annoyin’ as a brainless monkey with one a’ them noise-popers.” He was smiling, but Sniper could just tell how truthful he was being; he could tell, mostly due to the fact that Demoman almost _never berated_ himself. And when he did, he was drunk off his ass and about _this close_ to passing out; but at the time, Demo was as sober as he had been seen procuring a job at BLU. 

The Scott deflated and planted his head in his hands, his eyes screwed shut; he had heard that expressing your emotions made you feel better, made them go away. However, as Demoman was finding out, it did nothing more but make him feel a thousand times worse. He could not explain his obscure sensitivity towards the subject, yes a couple of his team mates were…gone, and his best mate was held up in the medical wing; Demo had been around death his entire life, after he managed to kill his own parents while experimenting with his first batch of explosives. 

He did not deal well with emotional loss; he would prefer to lose an arm…than his little buddy. 

“Hey mate?” Sniper’s gravelly voice startled Demo but not quite enough to pull him out of his stupor. “You alroight?” All his life, Demoman had separated himself from physical contact and any emotional connections, as Sniper had; but seeing the bushman genuinely concerned for him left him with a strange feeling burning into his core and preventing him from laughing off the emotions plaguing him. 

“Aw cripe Sniper, I saw ‘im die!” Demoman shouted, seemingly out of nowhere. It was Sniper’s turn to be surprised and he very-nearly fell off the windowsill he was seated on. He was grabbed by the arm and held in place securely, “I did nothin’! I’m still doin’ nothin’; fucking NOTHIN’!” Demo yelled as he stood abruptly, slamming his bottle of Scrumpy to the ground, the glass shattering into a million dangerous shards. Sniper flinched away as shards of the tinted glass plinked off his bare arms, a worried glare directed at Demoman.

“Calm down Demo!”

“No, I’ve been _‘calm’_ and it hasn’t done a _bleedin’ thing_!” Amazingly the potential zeal he was ready to let out in a shouting match was instantly swept away, replaced with nothing but a lingering sense of loss. Demoman stumbled a bit before resting his arm on the opposite wall, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand and breathing sporadically. His head hurt, he needed more alcohol in his body, unfortunately he just smashed his bottle; there was nothing he could do exactly. Being overwhelmed with new emotions was not exactly an ideal set of circumstances for the easily unstable Scott.

Sniper wanted to say something, but there were no words to say that sounded right. He stood up and quietly stepped over to his companion, reaching out a shaky hand to grasp Demo’s shoulder, mumbling something of an apology under his breathe. His aviators tipped down his nose just a bit, and the marksman could not find the will in his arm to reach up and correct them; so they stayed put; he felt the gentle trembling of Demoman’s shoulders under his hand. 

The demolitions expert was turned away from him, his forehead touched against the wall where Sniper could not see any emotions running over his face. He guessed his teammate was hurting, probably for the first time since he was younger, and Sniper was useless, unable to console or comfort the Scott. _Damn it, where the hell is Engie when you need him._

“Sorry Sniper,” Demoman muscled out, pushing himself away from the wall and breathing in shakily once again. “Didn’t mean ta’ lose it like that.” His brightly colored eyes were cast downwards, “I just want everythin’ back th’way it wos. S’not fair…” Sniper could hear the melancholy in his usually exuberant tone, and it hurt to see Demo in such a way. “Anywho,” Demoman piped up and forced a smile to his face, “Le’s go see if Jane’s awake yet.”

Sniper shrugged and nodded before he began following the Scott out, an almost unreadable grin on his slim features. _Jane…I wos expecting something more loike Sam…_ The marksman chuckled silently to himself. _It fits ‘im though._

_._

Although it was late, the BLU Spy was absolutely sure that the REDs would still be awake, if they were anything like his own team; no one on-base had been getting a lot of sleep, too much uncertainty. 

Spy was, of course, silent as a gentle breeze as he stalked through the upper levels of the RED’s base, wary of the wooden support beams that may creak with his passing. He had both his kunai and Ambassador out in his gloved hands, the knife dancing between his deft fingers in a mindless distraction. All the malice he could muster was welled up inside his chest, but at some point during his trek through the enemy headquarters he decided that he may not be able to kill someone out of cold blood.

Spy was a refined gentleman, and he prided himself on his adept ability to keep calm and not let petty indifferences interfere with his job and everyday life. While he was vengeful beyond belief, he understood that Pyro’s death had been a consequential result of Respawn going down mid-battle; he stretched to admit it was an _accident_. 

Just as his mind had begun to settle, his memories shot a terrible visual straight through his head, and the saboteur growled low in his throat. Scout’s death had been no accident, in fact it had been obviously purposeful, and that damned Heavy took away something Spy never thought he could miss. 

Yes, Scout had been the most annoying piece of shit he had ever met, never giving Spy a moment’s rest; not to mention the youth’s constant intake of sugar and semi-radioactive beverages which made him _that much more insufferable_. But despite all of his flaws, of which there were countless, Scout was just a kid, and he was a good kid. 

Spy stopped mid-pace and placed a hand on his head, a brand new sickening feeling giving him terrible motion sickness. The fact that the two youngest members of his team were gone was enough for them all to choke down in and of itself; until just then Spy reminisced about just _how young they were_. He probably would have broken something had he not been trying to remain hidden, because a rush of anger flew through him and jabbed him in the heart.

Scout had not even been 21, Spy breathed out shakily, his fingers grasping his baklava; he was 20, the pipsqueak could not even _drink_ legally yet…and he was dead. Quietly as he could the BLU pressed his back against the red walls, inhaling deeply to ward off his anger. He was not going to make any more of a show than he already had; he was still trying to find the nerve to face his team again after his initial show of paralyzed depression. 

Not that his depression had dissipated, it was getting worse by the day, but Spy was a proud man and would not let such a visual display come to pass again. But his thoughts then drifted to Pyro. _God_ , Spy did not even want to think about his Firebug; he had barely been 23…but he was gone as well. 

It was surprisingly hard, Spy found out, to fully keep his cool when the events were still fresh in his mind, and when he saw the enemy Heavy trudge through the hallway perpendicular from the one he was in, the saboteur was careful to take another deep breathe and relax. 

_Recon, it’s just recon. I’m doing this because I’ve been so useless…_ Spy nodded in assurance to himself and flicked on his Invisiwatch, disappearing with a small _whoosh_ and a puff of blue smoke. 

As he assumed, the RED team was mostly gathered in their common room; they all seemed normal enough, despite the lack of their Scout and Medic. The RED Soldier was pacing the room, Engineer sitting atop of his toolbox with Sniper standing next to him, their Pyro was cross-legged on the couch next to Heavy and Demoman, and the RED Spy was standing on the far-side of the room nursing a cigarette. 

BLU Spy took note of their behavior, how jittery they seemed and how most of them were sporting some bad injuries. Their Soldier and Sniper appear to have the most severe of the damage; odd considering that both Snipers tend to be more self-preserving before being forward. The Engineer’s leg bounced just slightly, reminding BLU Spy of his Sniper’s nervous habits that mimic the action. 

Every so-often one of them would begin a quiet conversation with another, more often than not it was the Engie and Sniper talking about strangely nonchalant things; snickering between one-another about something at the expense of one of their teammates, lightheartedly nudging each other after a particularly bad pun.   
It was not completely out of the ordinary for BLU Spy to watch the buddy-buddy behavior between the two; while the RED Engie and Sniper seem a tad closer; his own corresponding teammate were close friends as well, and often times his Engineer was capable of opening up the introverted marksman and make him laugh.

The similarities between the teams began to legitimately _scare_ Spy, until the Heavy stood up, the couch creaking in relief as his weight was lifted from it. “We need to kill them.” He said flatly, a look of disarming anger on his face. Silence followed the exclamation, and most of them seemed to begrudgingly agree, which made BLU Spy cringe in the slightest. 

“Now hang on,” A bit of sense showed itself to the room when the RED Sniper stepped away from his place against the wall, allowing the entirety of his team to stare at him. He seemed to swallow before continuing, “Now oi know we’re all angry, but oi’m thinking perhaps this entire ordeal is something avoidable. I mean, no one has told us we’re _required_ to keep foighting, in fact oi’m not too interested in losing anyone else, or killing any of the BLUs for that matter.” He concluded whilst crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

The RED Soldier was all-too-quick to intervene, “Listen here maggot- Those damn dirty BLUs are still fighting us, so WHY IN THE NAME OF FRANKLIN DELANO WOULD WE GIVE THEM SUCH PLEASANTRIES?” The Soldier’s voice reverberated off the walls, BLU Spy noted, same as his team’s Soldier. 

It was the Engineer’s turn to speak, and he rose to his feet and stood next to his Sniper. “Watch yer’ tone Solly, Slim’s got a fine point. And it would do _you_ some good to listen, seein’ as how your lack of smarts is gonna git’ us all killed!” His tone was sharp and angry, a strong contrast to the BLU Engineer in almost every way.

The RED Demoman hesitantly stepped forward, “Hey Engie, maybe ye’ shouldn’t be so hard on Soldier, and Soldier, perhaps you should settle down.” He suggested somewhat quietly to his teammates. 

“Oh hush-up, _you’re_ the one who blew Slim to the opposite side of 2fort yesterday with your careless misplacement of your sticky bombs!” The Engineer sneered. BLU Spy was surprised to see the demolitions expert back away with a scowl, but nonetheless avoiding a conflict. 

The Soldier quirked his head just a bit, “Yes, how did you manage to return safely from enemy territory, marksman? I was ready to admit you were a goner before Engie let me know you had returned.” 

This interested BLU Spy, who had dared to take a step further into their common room and was standing almost in the right-hand corner; he had still been unable to function properly the previous day’s fight, so any news had not yet reached his ears. It was probably coincidence, or good-fortune that allowed the Sniper with a safe passage back to the RED side.

“Well actually,” The Sniper piped up, “Oi- uh, stumbled upon the BLU Engineer settin’ up his nest. He…well, to give you the short version he didn’t kill me, and trust me he had many perfect opportunities to do so. Had me by the collar,” He chuckled, lightly touching the collar of his red shirt. After a moment his smirk fated and he looked somewhat solemnly at the ground. “Oi wos the one who killed their Pyro, and he had found out and oi could tell he wanted to kill me, cos oi could tell how close he wos to his Pyro. Fact of the matter is oi’m alive because their Engineer would not kill me, because _he_ has the sense to know that this is all pointless nonsense.” 

Even their Soldier looked taken aback at the rise in his teammate’s tone of voice, but he shook out any surprised and crossed his arms defiantly. “Probably didn’t even have a gun with him,” He mumbled. 

The Sniper went to correct him but was cut-off as the RED Spy’s chuckle echoed through the room. “My dear Bushman, ze BLU Engineer is probably ze most sensitive man you will ever find. His inability to kill you is a pathetic sign of humanity and brotherhood; I may call it patriotism had your _’attacker’_ been ze opposing Sniper, however zhat was not ze case.” The Spy blew nonchalantly on his cigarette, tapping the ash off to his side.

“Listen mate, oi know weakness when I see it. That Engie was not bein’ weak, he honestly did not want to kill me, or anyone else-“

“But what happens when we go back into battle and he happens to have a sentry gun, I doubt he will disassemble ze sentry for you. So maybe we should not dwell on your inability to make good judgment and focus on how exactly we can end zhis idiotic fighting.” The Spy would not deign his Sniper with an acknowledgement as the Australian glared daggers his way. 

BLU Spy almost scoffed, nearly _appalled_ by his counterparts nonchalant approach to this extensive situation; it was decisively moronic, and he expected more from the fellow Spy. Regardless, the hidden Spy admitted a silent congratulation to the enemy Sniper and his apparent sensibility. 

“It _is_ idiotic fighting, and that’s why oi’m tryin’ to tell you blokes that going on the offensive is not a good idea. Jus’ listen to me for a minute-“ RED Sniper insisted, his plea almost unheard in the room filled with 5 other unwilling mercenaries and one who would support him but prefer to fight in the end. 

“Zhe last time we did zhat, we almost blew-up Nucleus.” The Spy deadpanned. 

As many other things, it was obvious for the eavesdropping BLU that the opposing Sniper and Spy did not have as good of a relationship as he and his Sniper did, and he made note to stop by and regard his team’s marksman later. 

“Enough, no more arguing.” The RED Heavy boomed, “Doktor is dead because of cursed BLU team, so is leetle Scout. I kill them before they can hurt us anymore.” With that the Russian trudged from the room, BLU Spy had to do some strategic maneuvering to avoid being bumped into and caught. 

He decided that it was time to take his leave; he could tell his Insiviwatch was ready to give-out from excess use, and, if he was completely honest with himself, he was pretty goddamn tired. With practiced ease he silently stepped out of the room, and only paused when he heard the enemy Soldier speak up again, supposedly to his Demo or Engie. “We’ll get those lousy bastards tomorrow, bright and early.”

With new information to relay, Spy stealthily took his leave, trying with some rank of difficulty to refrain from lighting a cigarette before he was back in his own base; the downfall of the chain-smoker and his excessive need for nicotine, he concluded, was going to be the end of him one day. 

“Spah’…” BLU Engineer mumbled almost inaudibly as he noticed the saboteur uncloak by the door, looking considerably exhausted and his suit in a mess. The mechanic hesitantly stood and slowly approached, carefully as if moving too fast would scare the Frenchman away; he looked the other over, having not seen Spy for over two or three days. He would not admit it, but he had been worried about the Spook. 

Every instinct was trying to force Spy back towards his room, or perhaps the hiding spot in the Intel. room he had grown to like. Applying sheer willpower he stood his ground, “Engie, before you berate me, I am sorry for being gone for so long, and I realize I was not a part of the recent fight; I am sorry, I shall not be so useless in the near future.” Before Spy could continue, Engineer grabbed his arms and pulled him into a hug again, startling said saboteur. 

“Just shut up you bloomin’ idiot,” Engineer mumbled against the other’s chest, “I’m glad you’re safe. Where on Earth were you?” He asked worriedly, pulling away when he felt the Frenchman fidgeting uncomfortably. 

Spy cleared his throat in the process of fixing his tie, “I was doing some reconnaissance-“ As expected, the Texan in front of him very-nearly flipped his emotional shit when he learned, “I was completely safe, so not worry Laborer. It was apparently crucial that I did so; the REDs are planning to attack us early tomorrow, you need to tell Soldier. Despite ‘ow stupid I think fighting is, I will not allow us to be defenseless. Alright, Engie?” He finished quickly; an instinctive need caused him to reach for his cigarette case.

Engineer seemed to be sated in his displeasure, and made no opposition when the saboteur disappeared in a puff of smoke, taking his leave silently and unnoticed. “Oh my…” He murmured.

_._

Soldier paced back-and-forth off to the side of the common room, his hands held behind his back and his head tipped down in contemplation. Demoman and Sniper were nearby, the marksman was rested against the wall while Demo sat lazily on the couch, no bottle in sight. It was not until Engie walked in that Soldier stopped pacing and took notice, walking up to the shorter mercenary and greeting him. Before any words could make their way out into the air, Medic very legitimately burst into the room.

“ **Soldier**! Vhat do you zhink you are doing? Get back to the Medical Wing _Dummkopf_!” The German was louder than any of them thought possible and considerably more forceful when he grabbed Soldier by the arm of his coat and began pulling him with him.

Of course it did not sit well with the American and he pulled away, suppressing a grunt when he jerked his still injured shoulder. “Don’t fucking touch me, maggot!” 

Engie was taken aback when he heard just how quiet Soldier was, still loud in comparison, but for him it was practically a whisper. “Solly you shouldn’t be up, partner.” The mechanic insisted, gently grasping his friend’s arms, worried when he felt no resistance. 

“You are still in need of medical attention Soldier, you are novhere near ready to be valking around! _Gott_ , I mean you’re still fucking _bleeding_!” The doctor motioned to the previously white bandages stained red. Soldier seemed to take it all very nonchalantly, turning his back on Medic and moving out of Engineer’s grip.

“Eh who needs medicine when you have the good ol’….American…stuff..-huh, I…” His uniform march slowed and he stumbled off to the side, falling against the wall; he began to breathe heavily, and his vision blurred. Before he knew what was going on, the floor was rushing up to meet him.  
“ _Jane!_ ” Engie successfully grabbed his fellow countryman and followed him to the floor, pulling his torso up onto his lap to keep the injury elevated. In haste, the mechanic pushed Soldier’s Kevlar off his head and took hold of the sides of his face; his features were pale and deathly-looking, dark circles around his eyes accentuated the look. “Jane? You idiot get up!”

When Soldier did not do as such, Engineer looked up at Medic, his eyes noticeably wide despite his goggles obscuring the view. Looking almost as scared as the mechanic, Medic kneeled down by them both, “ _Scheiße._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So BLU Spy is still around, no worries


	5. Devastation is a dangerous enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to read and find out loves~

.5.

“Engie he is fine, I assure you-“

“Oh mah’ god I’m gonna lose him! This is all ma’ fault, I should have talked some sense into him!”

“ _Halte, bitte._ Soldier vill-“

“I ain’t sittin’ by no longer; I’m gonna…well I’m gonna rip those goddamn REDs apart, r-right in front ‘a each other s-so they can feel all of this hurt!” 

“Engineer, please calm down and listen to m-“

“Oh lord, crap, crap, crap tell me this ain’t happenin’. He’s gonna die and it’s all mah’ fa-“

“ **Del Conagher!** ” Medic’s piercing voice finally silenced his ranting companion, his hands were held in fists by his sides, covered in dry, caked on blood. Once Engiener was worked into a silent state the doctor sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Soldier vill be fine, as long as I can care for him.” 

The news did not seem to offer the Texan with very much comfort as his shoulders drooped and the rim of his hardhat tipped down over his goggles. “But…” Engie began quietly. “But he ain’t gonna like bein’ taken care of, he’s just gonna git’ up again and hurt himself more.” He stepped back towards the wall, putting an arm over his chest to grasp at his adjourning arm. 

Medic was thrust into an awkward situation instantly; he would have told anyone else to straighten themselves out and act _’More like a man.’_ , but not his Engineer. The Texan proved on multiple occasions to be the only one, aside from Heavy, to bring out whatever shreds of sympathetic humanity Medic held stored in his bank-vault of a heart. 

The air was stagnant and smelled of blood, but it would have been normal if the airborne dread had not perfected its form as a fine mist and thoroughly snuck into every crevasse in the BLU base; it made everything worse, if that was at all possible. Medic threw his gaze to Soldier on the nearest medical berth in an attempt to find something to talk about. As the silence drew on Medic cursed himself for being such a damn recluse. 

However both Engineer and Medic turned when they heard a commotion in the common room, but neither made a move towards the door; Engineer very nearly at the point of not caring, and the resident doctor not caring about anything. “What in tarna-“

_BOOM_

Medic barely registered the noise before he was on his ass practically underneath his nearby table, plaster from the roof and his medical supplies raining down on top of him. His eyes dart over to Engineer who miraculously managed to stay on his feet, furiously dodging debris as he tried to find his way to the doctor. “Doc’ you okay?” He shouted his concern and grabbed Medic’s hands to pull him up.

“ _Ja, ja_ ,” He assured, “Vhat vas zhat?” 

The question was answered in the form of Heavy bounding into the room sporting new bruises and lacerations on his exposed arms and face. “Doktor? Where are you?” 

“Heavy! _Ich bin hier!_ ” He called out to his partner, hurrying out into clear sight of the main door with Engineer behind him. “Vhat happened?” Hi voice shook with worry and he mindlessly began checking each one of the Russian’s injuries only to be shooed away.

“ **You bloody wankers Oi’ll kill ya before you can even run crying to your mums! Each one’a ya’!** ”

“Was that Slim?” Engineer wondered aloud, his entire body screaming his un-voiced terror. 

“Yes we have problem! We are needing your help Dieter,” Heavy admitted. 

Medic frowned, recognizing something dark and scarred in his friend’s usually chipper tone; and it worried him, especially so as he broke out into a run towards the door. 

Engineer took a step and a similar direction but turned to cast a worried glance at Soldier in the medical berth; part of his subconscious knew that Soldier was bound to be needed in whatever confrontation was happening outside, and it seemed the general was a thousand miles away as opposed to right in front of him.

When Medic stepped out into the hallway there were, strangely enough, very few obtrusive sounds, save for the continuous shots from an easily identifiable sniper rifle. Heavy trudged out of the medical wing a few steps after him and urged him forward. 

The scene that greeted the German was one of home-based devastation; the far wall nearest to the exit towards the shared territories was in shreds with a greater portion of the lower half blown out. It seemed likely work of the enemy Demoman’s sticky bombs, judging by the smaller explosions stretching _into_ the base; the staircase was partially blown away along with part of the ceiling. 

Sniper was stood on a mangled ledge in the explosion in the wall, his rifle pointed out and a dangerous snarl on his thin facial features. “ _Herr Mundy_ do come down,” Medic urged over the noise of his shots. But all his pleas were basically ignored when the Australian turned to throw a warning look.

“Git Demo and fucking help _him_!” He yelled.

Sure enough, once Medic looked around, their resident Scotsman was pinned under a surmountable bit of rubble from the cracked ceiling. “Heavy-“ He did not have to finish his request before Heavy lumbered over and began pulling the slabs of concrete and wood away. “Fuck,” Medic bit his lip nervously as he pulled back the last bit of plaster away.

“Hey Doc’…” Demoman muttered through his haze, trying but ultimately failing to push himself up on his elbows. “Are ye’all okay?” He muscled out, pretending to ignore the thick wetness that slid from the corner of his mouth. 

It took a good amount of self-respecting pride to not pull away, deterred to the extreme by the ceiling pipe protruding almost a foot out of the other man’s chest. Without gloves on, he felt just how cold Demo felt already, the blood seeping into his blue jumpsuit and speeding up the cooling process. “ _Ja…_ yes Demoman,” Medic took a shaky breathe. “It is you I am vorried about.”

About that time Sniper jumped down from his perch and dropped his rifle, sinking to his knees next to his friend, grabbing for his arm; he noted with a pang in his heart that his pulse was weakening and his skin was clammy. “Oi’m sorry mate, Oi couldn’t help ya’. You’re one’a my best mates just… _crickey_ …”

Failing strength and a fading vision barely allowed Demoman to register his fellow mercenary’s hand shaking against him; he grabbed for said appendage and held it firmly in his own, throwing a signature smile with bloodstained teeth up at his Australian teammate. “Yer alright laddie,” 

Sniper gnashed his teeth together when he felt the hand, one that slapped him on the back multiple times and often at inopportune times, go limp and heart wrenchingly lifeless in his grasp.

It had happened too fast, and Sniper was already back up on his ledge and firing hazy shots into the ending night and towards the RED base and the few REDs who stuck around to see the reaction. “OI’LL KILL YA!” His barrage of cursing and sporadic gunshots continued until the loud thudding of two pairs of boots made the presence of two new parties distinguishable. 

“ **Sean Mundy** git’ your sorry ass down off’a there before _I_ come up there and give you a _swift kick in the pants_ you bloomin’ idiot!” Engineer bellowed over the noise, an angry glare directed directly at the Australian, one which was backed up by Soldier’s equally-as-terrifying gaze. 

The general was up but seemed hesitant enough on his feet, and without his thick blue jacket or bandolier he seemed considerably less intimidating though his Kevlar was firmly in place and hiding part of his visage. 

Sniper looked away from the regrouping REDs, his eyes filled with the promise of mutilation, but also sadness, fear, and definitely un-surety. He silently jumped back down and pushed his rifle strap over his shoulder. “They,” Sniper began, seething hate from every joint. “Killed him,” 

Engineer and Soldier both took notice, finally, of their unmoving Demoman on the floor, in the process of being removed from the pipe spearing him by Heavy and Medic, Medic looking like he was about to throw up, or kill a man. Probably both.

“Tavish…?” 

Engineer nearly started to bawl when Soldier’s uncharacteristically quiet, broken voice broke the silence and his fellow countryman took a few careful steps forward. 

Quietly, goddamn he was being terribly quiet, he straightened his back and gave a shaky salute, his eyes lingering on his pal’s lifeless form; another one of them mindlessly hoping the body would disappear for Respawn to regenerate. No such luck, of course. 

Carefully, Engie reached out and took Soldier’s hand with his own and pulled him back, not quite daring to hug him just yet. “Jane I’m-“

“ALRIGHT LISTEN UP YOU SORRY SONS-A-BITCHES,” 

The sudden vocal intrusion made Medic visibly flinch. Soldier reached over and yanked Engineer’s shotgun off the Texan’s belt and held it up near his uninjured shoulder, cocking the gun loudly. “WE AREN’T JUST GOING TO SIT BACK AND LET THEM GET AWAY WITH KILLING OUR FRIENDS ARE WE?” He actually waited until a few nods circulated throughout the room, “THEN GET YOUR ASSES INTO RESUPPLY AND DEFEND YOUR TERRITORY!” With a confident grin he shot two rounds into the already broken ceiling.

Engineer sighed and grabbed his shotgun back, landing a chaste kiss on Soldier’s cheek in the process, “Hold your horses, we still need to be careful I don’t-“

**BOOSH**

Another wave of explosions rocked the ground, motivating the BLUs towards their Resupply room and their weapons. Sniper, already fully loaded with his weapon of choice simply returned to his broken concrete perch, jumping unto an actual upper level terrace once Heavy came back out, sporting his minigun for the first time in almost a week since it all began. 

Soldier bounded out of Resupply with his blue coat on once again and his Black Box on his shoulder, he opened his mouth to begin shouting orders when a sturdy hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back. A sharp hiss escaped him with the tug on his injured shoulder, which had started bleeding again and gone unnoticed by everyone. He nudged his helmet up his face to glare at Engineer, still held tight to his arm. “This ain’t a good idea partner,” He warned, his soft Texan accent sporting a warning vibe. “We just lost Demo, and I imagine you’re upset but-“ Soldier stopped him when he grabbed him by the collar, and it was his turn to yank Engie towards him and plant a strong, but quick kiss on him. 

He grinned when he pulled away, glad to have made the Texan blush as he was. “I know Del,” His smile faltered as he turned and headed towards the initiated fight, thoroughly ignoring the sting of his shoulder. 

Soldier grimaced when he walked out and his Kevlar was skimmed by bullets from the enemy Heavy’s minigun. In an attempt to shield himself from harm he threw his body into a tuck and roll behind a small dividing fence, sticking his neck out to see the most advantageous place to strike. An opening reared its ugly head when the RED Soldier ceased fire for a moment to reload his Rocket Launcher, which the BLU counterpart took eagerly, firing his rockets in the general direction.

Medic ground his teeth together and muscled out a curse, pressing himself against the backside of a rock. He held his Crusaders Crossbows tightly in his fist, low on the healing darts, but stood by to help if necessary. Fear washed over him when amongst the noise, the German picked out the familiar _thunking_ of pipe bombs against the ground. Reflexes were not enough to get Medic out of harm’s way when the blinking red pipes tumbled to his side of the rock, and knocked him over 3 yards and into a crumbling wall against the BLU base. 

His head spun and his ears were ringing dangerously loudly, obscuring his most used senses into a blur of washed out color and muffled noise. Medic ran his hand over the ground, ignoring the dirt collecting in his glove, and snatched his Crossbow back. It was not until he tried to stand that a crippling pain shot through his legs and gravity pulled him back to its painful, motionless crypt. 

“Doktor? Where are you?” Medic barely registered the panicked cry of his partner. He went to return the call but his voice would not make a sound, and still his leg refused to move; he was grounded, for the time being, and he hated it.

“Doc’? Are you alright partner?” Engineer asked, skidding down on his knees by the resident doctor. Distantly Medic nodded and tried to somehow work his legs, but aside from the original pain there was no feeling in the extent of either limb. 

In different circumstances it would have been overtly comical to see Engineer trying to support Medic as they walked, the German standing almost 8 inches above Engie’s 5 foot 4 inch visage. Though current circumstances did not allow for such comedy to be enjoyed. 

Heavy intervened and easily scooped Medic up with one arm, Sasha in the other, and ran him back into where Engineer was held-up. “Engie, help him please,” He insisted with an almost desperate look in his eyes.

“Of course kid, my Dispenser still has some juice left in ‘er. Go on git’.” Engineer assured, patting the Russian on the arm. Heavy lumbered off but not before another worried gaze towards Medic. 

Sniper was stood nearby and lowered his scope, his angry snarl morphing slowly into a concerned look, “ _Croickey_ ,” He murmured, “Can Oi help at all?”

“Naw kid,” Engineer growled offhandedly, “I don’t think my Dispenser can fix this anymore, not enough power.” He reached up and scratched his fingers against his hardhat. 

Through his employment, Sniper had never felt as useless as he did right then; he was a Sniper, he laid in wait for an unsuspecting RED to fall into the crosshairs of his scope. He was a benefactor to his team, and he made sure to prove himself to them with every battle; and even off-hours when he used to humor Scout and Pyro as they stuck pencils in fences clear-across the base and expected him to shoot them off. He never disappointed, not once.

But through his aviators he saw Medic and his mangled leg, the man he thought was above petty bodily injury, lying in a halfway unconscious heap against the wall, with his blood dripping off of the banister. He was their doctor, and Engineer was smart, but he was not a doctor; Sniper turned away, accepting the fact that that was the last time he may ever see Medic alive.

And it _pissed him off._

He returned to his perch with a vengeance, scoping in and trying to see who could possibly be a target. His anger simmered over until a disturbance in the scenery caught his attention. Sniper lowered his rifle just in time to see an arrow _wiz_ past him about a foot away.

“Bloody hell-!” 

“What’s wrong Slim?” Engineer inquired from over by his Dispenser. The question was answered when the handcrafted arrow stuck into the wall above Engineer. “I guess gratitude only goes so far with that one.” He turned back to Medic and carefully used his Gunslinger to mold a strip of thin steel around the doctor’s since amputated leg, pleased when he welded it closed in the perfect position. 

Medic groaned, gnashing his teeth together, trying to offer advice in his barely conscious state. He watched Engineer continue to wrap metal around tubing, and linked a ball joint into a stabilizing servo supported by metal rods; the appendage itself had an extra ball joint contraption and bent backwards a bit in one place. A dragging pain alerted Medic to the appendage being soldered together and then onto the base of his amputated left leg. 

Engineer mumbled something about needing a spring-balanced rod, though Medic could not quite pick it out as his ears were still ringing. “Wos wrong Truckie?” Sniper asked when he heard the quiet curses from behind him. 

“Missin’ a part Slim; need it so the Doc’ don’t fall over when he walks,” Engie threw his gaze down near the crumbling wall. “Hang on I see it,” 

_._

The RED Sniper smirked triumphantly to himself, having thoroughly startled his counterpart; he silently applauded his accuracy as the arrow planted itself in the wall almost precisely where he had aimed. The BLU Engineer was nearby his counterpart, but confidence in his own skill allowed him to dwell on other such problems. 

“You get anyone with that one Slim?” RED Engineer called to his companion.

“Wosn’t aiming for anyone that toime, love.” The Sniper grinned.

_._

“Nh,” Medic groaned, forcing himself onto his elbows, looking up at Engineer expectantly. “Vhat did you do?” He asked, masking his concern with agitation. 

The mechanic scoffed a bit and crossed his arms, which were smudged with bits of rust and dirt, “Well nice to know mah’ work is appreciated,” He teased, throwing an arm out and helping the doctor to his feet, which ended when Medic toppled over onto Engineer, voicing his concern loudly with a few angry German words. “Vhat zhe damn happened to my leg? I-oh…”

“I’m sorry Doc’, I couldn’t save yer’ leg. The bones bellow your knee were completely severed and the muscle was blown out, and I’m not you and…damn I’m sorry partner,” Engie sighed, tapping nervously on the top of his Dispenser. 

He was scared, but Medic did look down, swallowing a gasp; his left leg below his knee was gone, replaced with some contraption that oddly resembled the supporting leg of one of the mechanic’s sentries, with the addition of a seemingly sturdy base. After another couple failed attempts to support himself, Medic finally let go of Engineer, stumbling a bit; he winced with each baby step he took. It took less than a minute for the doctor to fumble for the bottle of high-dosage painkillers in his satchel and swallow about 5 too-many of them. 

The RED Demoman launched sticky bombs at the ground near Heavy’s feet, and the heavy weapon’s guy barely got out of range of any collateral damage that may have occurred. He retreated just a bit to reload, and in doing so caught sight of his partner, on his feet and looking unsure of himself. “Doktor! You are okay?” He called up. 

“ _Ja, ich bin komme,_ ” Medic returned. With Engie’s help he got around and greeted the Russian with a small grin, trying to return to normal, if that was even possible. 

“Your leg?” Heavy murmured, feeling more than a bit guilty. “I’m sorry,”

Medic _tutted_ , carefully he stepped forward to place a light kiss on his partner’s forehead, “There is nothing to be sorry for,” He forced a smile, “You’ll have to help me upgrade zis thing later, alright?”

Still looking upset, Heavy nodded.

“ _Sehr gut! Jetzt, gehst auf!_ ” He swiftly fired a healing arrow into Heavy’s side, glad to notice the massive Russian perk up just the slightest with the bit of rejuvenation.

_._

Another shot grazed his head, and the RED was beginning to honestly wonder if his counterpart was truly losing his touch, or rather was suffering the side effects of continuous stress. Then again the last 3 arrows that left his quiver, with the intended target being the opposing Sniper’s head, had planted themselves into the wall, or bounced off the concrete terrace. 

The Sniper ground his teeth together, ignoring the pain in his gums from continuously doing so; he blinked hard, rotating his shoulders and knocking another arrow. “Focus darlin’,” The RED Engineer murmured, steadying his companion’s trembling by placing his hands over his arms. The Sniper sighed at the remark, understanding but choosing to ignore the urgency in his Engineer’s tone. 

_._

“How’re you handlin’ Slim?” Engie asked, returning to the marksman’s terrace after assisting his Medic. He merely got a grunt in response and an agitated growl after he fired off another unsuccessful shot. “Not too well I presume, huh?” He murmured and scratched his head under his helmet. 

Engineer looked down towards the fighting below in time to see his team’s Heavy lift up Medic and spin around once before setting the bewildered doctor back down. Engie would find out later he had witnessed the result of Heavy shooting the enemy Spy full of holes, effectively eliminating the RED saboteur.

“Truckie, watch it!” Sniper bellowed before shoving the mechanic to the ground and out of the path of a speeding arrow, which then joined the three identical arrows already stuck in the wall behind them. “ _Oi_ , this is between me and you, ya’ no-good wanker!” He yelled over the noise of gunshots below to his counterpart. 

The return response he received was something about _”having that Engie of yours watch his head.”_ which did not please him one bit. “Bleedin’ gumby, I oughta whack ‘im one,” He mumbled, and Engie chuckled.

The Texan moved to the left of his Dispenser, fiddling with the jammed tray towards the top and trying to ignore his constant worry. He got the chance to smile when Soldier bounded up onto the terrace, leaning a bit on the Dispenser and breathing heavily, “You nailing those bastards or what?” Soldier asked gruffly to the marksman. No response. “Eh whatever,” He shrugged uncharacteristically nonchalantly, “Just keep an eye on Engie here for me. He gets too adventurous for his own good sometimes,” He reached over and flipped the mechanic’s helmet down over his goggled lightheartedly before looking out to inspect another set of small explosions he heard.

Sniper lowered his gun and smiled warmly when he saw Engineer return the favor and spin Soldier’s Kevlar around on his head, before turning back and throwing a matching smile at the marksman. Sniper would say that seeing any members of his team happy _would not_ warm his heart and give him a good reason to fight this pointless war…but he would be lying. 

“Oi careful mates, you’re gonna fall off if ya’ don’t-“

Engineer was paralyzed when the gut-wrenching sound pierced his eardrums; in his vain attempt to reach out he stumbled onto his knees and merely scooted himself forward, everything was in slow-motion and the only sound he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his head. Unshed tears peppered his eyelids beneath his goggles, and his rush of sudden emotions was worsened as the thin man’s arms fell lifelessly at his sides before the rest of his body even fell over; his prized rifle clattered onto the concrete of the terrace moments before its handler fell right next to it.

The world suddenly came into focus as Engineer grabbed Sniper’s vest and pulled him up into his lap, shouting jumbled words out in his panic, not caring or understanding what was leaving his vocal cords. 

Was he crying? He could not tell, and he did not care, and the world was just blurring together into one big mesh of colors and noise. 

The blood on his hands made him begin to shake; anger and turmoil overwhelmed him, he felt helpless and confused, and in hind-sight he realized how humiliating he was acting in the wake of the final arrow being shot. All he could see, past the thick red blood staining Sniper’s mouth, was the winning smile he’d seen the Australian showing off just moments before, and it stung his heart. 

The arrow protruding from his neck was unsightly and Engineer squeezed his eyes shut and pulled it out, knowing well enough there was no need to be worried about any further harm; Sniper was already gone.

He leaned down and gently touched his forehead to his fallen comrade’s, sucking in air as he hyperventilated in the aftermath of the emotional blow. 

He felt hands grip his arms and pull backwards, but he resisted them, “ _No-!_ ”

As he continued his defiance, the pressure on his arms returned, only this time it encircled his chest and forcibly yanked him to his feet, pulling him away from the marksman’s body. Engineer vaguely registered more arrows flying by them, but his head was spinning and his chest convulsing almost painfully as the sobbing turned to outraged threats and pointless shouting directed at dead ears. “ _Sean!?_ ” Engineer ground out an apology for anything he may have ever done, finally letting his overstressed muscles fall limp in the powerful arms pulling him away from the noise. 

“ _You cold-hearted bastards!_ ”

Engineer tried to gather his senses to comprehend the new round of shouting.

“ _Brûle en enfer! You…you-!_ ”

Spy? Was that Spy? Engineer had been under the impression that the saboteur had not left the inner workings of the base for days; it was somewhat reassuring that he was around, but under the circumstances it was only further heartbreaking.

Heavy, Engie vaguely noticed, grabbed at the thin man and dragged him backwards; he ducked his head when Spy fired off a fury of shots from his Ambassador in close proximity to his head. 

In the rush and confusion, Medic ran back out, struggling to climb onto the terrace. He pulled himself across the concrete to Sniper’s body, carefully putting his index and middle fingers against the crook of the Australian’s neck. A devastated and defeated expression blanketed the doctor’s features and he curled his hands together into painful fists, knocking them against the ground in his anger. It hurt of course, but Medic barely recognized, let alone acknowledged the pain as he pushed himself back off the terrace.

“ _He was my friend dammit!_ ” Spy nearly screamed, throwing his gun against the wall as soon as the door was shut behind them all.

The explosions and gunfire stopped and brought 2fort under another disguised spell, promising peacetime amidst the destruction. Heavy moved and returned his Minigun to her proper location before taking a seat on one of the long benches within their Resupply. 

Soldier still had Engineer trapped in his arms, unable to tend to the mechanic’s involuntary convulsions now that his pent-up devastation had been released; and Engie clung to his companion’s arms right back, his grip was sure to leave fingerprints. 

Spy slammed his fists into the bleach white walls, breathing heavily through his teeth and fending off his emotions; he touched his forehead to the wall and screwed his eyes shut.

Medic dropped his Crusaders Crossbows and it carelessly clattered to the ground as he fell into place next to Heavy, letting out a hiss as the pressure was relieved from his replaced leg. He buried his head in his hands and tore his glasses away, rubbing his strained eyes vigorously. “This can’t have happened,” Medic murmured into his palms. “Zere is no vay zis just got vorse, _Got verdammt_ …”

“Well it did,” Spy said, barely audible even in the silence of the room. The three other sets of eyes, and one set of goggles turned to look at him forlornly. “It will keep getting worse,” His voice was so meek and frail in comparison to his once proud, arrogant tone. A bit of determination crossed his continuously paler visage and his distant brown eyes flew over to Soldier. “Maybe you all should z’ink about what we’ve lost, before we go out swinging again.” 

Then his voice dropped low and his demeanor grew dark, “Perhaps you four are zhe least qualified to feel zhe pain I’m trying to confide in you,” He stood straight and pulled out his few remaining shreds of dignity to speak down to his remaining team, feeling quite in-character for the first time in over a week. “Zhe Light of my Life iz dead; gone forever into the abyss that is the mortality of man zhat we have all been cheated out of.” His zeal failed and his staggered back against the wall, looking just as defeated as everyone else.

Spy sighed, “Stop zhis Soldier,” A tense pause, “If not for zhe greater good…zhen for Engineer.” He pushed himself off the wall and back towards the living quarters, casting his gaze over the mere 4 other BLU members.

Medic looked almost sad as he watched their Spy retreat into the stillness of the base, the trained doctor in him wanted to see Spy back to his old self; shoulders square but sleek and not this hunched over excuse for a narcissistic Frenchman, his blue suit fitting just right as opposed to the garment the man was nearly swimming in.

The words got through to him, and everyone else, loud and clear, yet still no one made a move.

Spy cringed when he reached his room, choking back a weak sob; he felt as if he had just regained some of his formerly overwhelming pride, and he was not about to lose it. He shut the door behind him and slid down the back of the door until he was sitting on the hard ground, though he ignored the discomfort and shifted a bit to reach into his pocket.

The Lighter was still polished and gleaming, just as Pyro had left it. He held it tightly in his gloved palm and pushed his hand against his chest, breathing in and out deeply through his nose. It was a living hell, what Spy felt running through his plagued mind, and he could not find a way to escape it by any practical means. 

Though, the ivory-encrusted revolver stored at his belt was a tantalizing, albeit _radical_ , means of said escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the emotionally relevant cliffhanger.  
> I translated the German and asked a friend about the French, please feel free to correct me if you know I am incorrect.


	6. Chapter 6

.6.

Perpendicular to a vast wall of numerous video screens was a large, rather uncomfortable-looking office chair, adorned with a small speaker system wired up to the head-rest at ear level. The video screens glowed a faint blue that casted a light over the otherwise darkened room, the same light accented the pale, angular features of the Administrator; sat proudly in the chair, she held a long, eloquent cigarette holder between her talon-like fingers. 

“I am not completely pleased with the disregard of your misidentified hypothesis, Helen,” A thin, suited man admitted agitatedly, his hands rung behind his back as he glared daggers at the back of the Administrator’s head. Turned away from the unwanted visitor, she smirked, inhaling the sacred nicotine to comfort her troubled mind. 

“My expectations have not been proven correct nor proven incorrect,” With an air of grace she stood up and straightened her skirt, she stepped forward to the large console of buttons and pressed a single one. Four of the small screens clicked off and then back on to show one unanimous video, repeating itself continuously: the BLU Engineer with the RED Sniper held at gunpoint and moments later allowing him to walk away.

The sickly looking man quirked his head delicately, his pale, almost white, eyes narrowed inquisitively as he scanned over the video screens in front of him. The Administrator looked back at him with an all-knowing grin, “Although I would say something to this factor,” She leaned on the edge of the console, resting the cigarette between her painted lips. 

The man seemed unimpressed, his own mouth formed into a thin line, his body language spoke wonders for his displeasure with the circumstances; his shoulders tensed and legs slightly bent. “This proves nothing, not in the big picture. The, per say, gist of your argument is that those mindless brutes will be both capable and intelligent enough to stop killing one-another. So far, our little _experiment_ has yielded no such results, in fact I’m rather surprised by their incapacity to function as normal human beings.” He boldly stepped forward, standing over a foot below the considerably taller woman to his left.

“I said it once to you, Helen, and I do not hesitate to reiterate: Those _things_ my brothers hired are incapable of normal comprehension,” He stated plainly, the uncaring evident in his gravelly voice. “They cannot be allowed to simply retire after their contracts expire.”

Quiet footsteps indicate his path towards the door, his leather shoes echoing against the linoleum floor as he neared the door, “I will not lose my loyalties, Grey Mann,” The Administrator stated very matter-of-factly before Grey could reach the door. He turned with vague interest to listen, “I don’t lie, and when I invest in something, I intend to see it through to the end.” She hesitated, “You will not lay a finger on the mercs, not now, not when they all retire.” 

The air between them was stale and tense for a few lingering moments before Grey Mann stepped out of the room, passing by Miss Pauling as he did so. The Administrator’s assistant was vigilant, and did not take her eyes off the bone-thin man until he was in the elevator at the end of the hallway. 

Miss Pauling turned to face her boss, clipboard held securely against her chest and digits wrapped around the plastic of the board; she waited for the Administrator to talk, to say something snarky about Grey Mann, or to insult the mercs for the trouble they had caused her.

After almost 3 minutes, she began to fuss mindlessly with her dress, bothered when she noticed an almost undistinguishable stain on the collar; an odd brown color in contrast to the violet purple.

“They’re going to be the death of me I swear it,” The Administrator deadpanned, finally turning to face her assistant with the same indifferent gaze she always held. 

Miss Pauling stood a bit straighter and nodded readily, “The mercs can be quite a handful ma’am.”

“Not them,” The older woman retorted quickly. “They are nothing but two sets of outcasts who were drug into a set of strange circumstances: innocent civilians caught in the blazing inferno of a war that started before half of them were born.” She explained. She then stepped up to the nearest window and starred outside at the rain beginning to _plink_ off the windowpane.

“I would use the term _innocent_ lightly if I were you ma’am.” Miss Pauling smiled lightheartedly. The comment earned her a quiet chuckle from the businesswoman, one not known for laughing.

“Yes, and _’lightly’_ is not a substantial adjective to limit the word usage to anyway.” Said the Administrator, turning back to face her computer systems again. She took her seat again and began to work.

Long nails typed away on the threshold, striking each key with quick efficiency as words flew across the display screen faster than Miss Pauling thought possible. The only sound in the room was the repetitive _tak tik cht_ as the Administrator typed, too lost in her own thoughts to comprehend that her assistant was still awaiting some kind of oral order. 

“If you don’t mind me asking ma’am,” Miss Pauling took a leap of good faith and began to speak, quietly as to not me intrusive or obnoxious. To her surprise, her boss turned just the slightest, the only acknowledgement she knew she was going to get. “Grey wanted to prove you wrong; he had no faith in the guys, what exactly have you two made your mysterious wager on?” She asked evenly, trying not to sound too nosey.

The cigarette almost completely burned out in its holder, the Administrator set it down and stood up again, this time, oddly enough, she seemed to be preoccupying herself before speaking. _Is she stalling…?_

Miss Pauling shook the very thought away quickly.

Across the room the announcer trekked, stopping at a regal-looking cabinet made of wood, a sharp contrast to the metal surroundings of Mann Co. Headquarters. Using a small silver key she pulled from behind her ear, she opened the cupboard and pulled out a clear glass bottle of, what Miss Pauling suspected, was whiskey. She poured herself a small glass and gulped it down in one go before finally addressing her assistant. 

 

“Grey Mann does not believe our mercenaries are worth the money we are, in his words, _wasting_ to keep them employed, fed, and alive. He thinks that after so long working for Blutrarch and Redmon, none of them are left with any sliver of reason. I…foolishly argued to the contrary.” The Administrator explained wearily.

This was news to Miss Pauling, and she was moved by the notion: the _Administrator_ arguing _in favor_ of their mercenaries? It was almost unheard of; she smirked, and admitted her boss was not as dastardly as she was constantly made out to be.

“Don’t think for a moment that I actually _care_ for those buffoons, but I prefer them to anything Grey could invent. His absurd robot mercenaries are truly ridiculous; they run on money, Miss Pauling, can you believe that?” The Administrator scoffed, lighting another cigarette.

Questioning her boss’ opinions was not something Miss Pauling was apt to do, though she found herself agreeing with the brash statement; the idea of the robots in and of themselves would not have been a completely undesirable idea, however the fact they were designed to run on money was a spectacular oversight in the general appeal. 

The rain outside was falling down harder, resounding loudly against the metal roof and distracted the professional assistant from her thoughts; since the desert is not a place where a downfall readily happens, such out of climate weather can be distracting. 

“It is true that you value the mercenaries, Miss Pauling? In a more personal sense of the word,” The Announcer asked seemingly out of the blue, wafting her hand off to the side for emphasis.

Miss Pauling was taken aback, just the slightest, and took a moment to herself to mull the thought over in her mind. Personal? She had talked to the mercs, yes, even been in contact enough to consider that more of a personal visit; lord knows Scout was a never-ending pit of attempts at getting more personal with the business assistant. 

Miss Pauling cleared her throat, “Comparatively ma’am…” She began, “Yes I would say I find myself holding some kind of closer bond with the guys. Why does that matter, if you don’t mind my asking?” She mumbled nervously, dainty fingers clutching the clipboard to her chest even tighter. 

More silence drug on and the storm outside grew more rampant, “Grey, more or less, bullied both Mann brothers into running a trial test on the mercenaries. I could do nothing but help them cut off all communications with both teams.

“I won’t say I feel bad, but something tells me they aren’t going to be doing too well. Blithering idiots…” The Administrator snuffed out her cigarette. 

“Since you appear to _care_ , I would like for you to check on them, in person.” She slid the clipboard out of Miss Pauling’s hands and replaced it with a small bag and walkie-talkie. Befuddled, her assistant looked from the materials to her boss. “Technically, this is not allowed under terms of the _test_ , however if you should be caught you can play coy, considering you aren’t in on the ordeal regardless.”

She fixed an almost invisible headset on Miss Pauling’s head and tapped it until a shrill beeping sound ran through the young woman’s ears. Miss Pauling slung the bag over her shoulder and clipped the walkie-talkie to its strap, “Pardon my confusion ma’am, but is it not a bit redundant to have a headset _and_ a walkie-talkie?” Was her quiet inquiry.. 

The Announcer smirked, “The headset is more discrete and offers constant communication,” She pulled out another identical headset and gestured with a long nail to the small black circling attached to the headband. “This is a wireless camera and will provide one-way video feed to me; I can see how the test is going without directly getting involved.” 

“Of course,” Miss Pauling nodded with confidence, despite the distinct lack thereof plaguing her mind.

“I shall send you out early tomorrow to 2fort and-“

“Ma’am what should I expect?” The young assistant blurted out suddenly, silencing her boss on the spot. The Administrator looked down skeptically at her companion, head quirked just the slightest to one side. 

Miss Pauling gulped nervously, her grassy green eyes wide with fear and uncertainty, and her fingers tapping against the walkie-talkie clipped onto her pack. Her attempts to not look as nervous as she felt were very quickly failing.

“I…I know you, and I know most everyone who works here,” She began, straightening herself out and willing herself to seem proud and presentable. “And I know you would never send your assistant to do something you could find out by other means.” There was a long pause, hesitation dripping off of her very being.

“When I arrive at 2fort, what should I expect?” She finished very quietly, her voice dipping into a grave whisper.

The Administrator sighed, resisting the urge to light yet another cigarette; she stepped over to her desk and opened a particularly large drawer, one that was previously locked twice-over. From within, she pulled out a stack of files within 9 manila envelopes and handed them to Miss Pauling, a disturbingly grave look on her normally disinterested features. “When you arrive- report to the BLU team, the REDs tend to get aggressive whenever a Mann Co. employee shows up.”

She put a hand on the stack of files now held by her assistant, “Do not show them any of these files; these are strictly for your eyes. Be mindful of them, when the time is right, they should help you.” She took the pile of folders back and tucked them away in Miss Pauling’s bag before zipping it shut safely. 

Miss Pauling had a bad feeling, a fifth sense that told her that The Administrator _knew_ what she was going to find when she arrived, but obviously, was not going to tell. It worried her. While her boss was normally a secretive lady, she had not been a stranger to trusting secret information to her assistant, and often sought out the younger woman for no other reason than to get particularly annoying secret plans off her chest. She disregarded all her scrambling thoughts in favor of her natural curiosity. 

“Right, will do ma’am.”

_._

“OW! _Gott verdammt!_ ” Medic howled, his fingers gripping the edge of the table behind him even harder.

Engineer looked up apologetically and mumbled bashfully, “M’sorry partner, I would’a done this better in the first place had I not been in such a rush to stop the bleedin’ and git you back on yer’ feet.” With another turn of his wrench, he sat back on his heels and looked over the mechanical appendage attached to the doctor’s leg

Medic shifted his knee around and stepped forward carefully, putting pressure on the new limb; a sharp hiss followed the action, but he soon eased into the pain and it was nothing more than a numb tingle within a few moments.

Heavy stood nearby, next to Soldier, and tried to withhold a childlike grin; seeing the oh-so-proud German having to practically learn to walk again was amusing in an endearing sort of way.

“That, uh, that looks good Del,” Soldier blustered, shuffling back on his heels, “It’s, well, it’s quite impressive.” He admitted as he straightened out his back.

“Your recovery is going quite good as well Doktor,” Heavy smiled warmly at his partner.

Medic took a few more careful steps, nearly tripping over the mechanized appendage twice, but being able to keep his balance. He felt confident in walking for the first time within the past two days, since the damned thing had been soldered to his blown-off leg. “ _Ja. Danke_ Engie.” The doctor nodded at the Texan.

The shorter man shrugged with a bashful grin, “Naw, it was nuthin’ fer’ a teammate. Now go on and rest partner, I’m no doctor, but I’m sure you’ve still got less blood runnin’ through ya than there’s supposed to be.” Engineer ushered Medic towards the door, who was quick to fight against the push, but inevitably was forced into his room.

A good night’s sleep would do him some good right? 

_Blood, there was blood on his hands, his arms, blood everywhere. Medic flicked his gaze all around, his vision blurry and painfully bright. ‘Yo Doc,’ A voice caught his attention through the haze, one that he heard, but it was not actually there._

_Scout was leaning heavily against the far wall of the common room, holding his midsection and limping along; tears streamed down his face and his previously bright blue irises had gone a ghostly white._

_A groan from somewhere beyond the haze pushed him to search more closely, and he found Sniper - an arrow protruding from his neck and blood seeping from said protrusion and from his mouth – trying desperately to pull Demoman from the pile of rubble, the slabs of concrete were crushing the Scotsman and forcing blood out past his lips. ‘Medic you gotta help ‘im mate!’ Sniper’s distant, echoing voice cried out._

_Medic was wide-eyed and crying; he reached reflexively for his Medigun but could not find it. A soft dragging sound drew his eyes to Pyro; limping and barely able to stand, his flamethrower dragging the ground behind him. The cuts in his flame-suit leaked blood and the bullet holes made a scattered line up his torso that ended with an almost perfectly centered bullet-would in his forehead._

_The doctor reached out, but they all seemed so far away, he was unable to reach them; he cried out, but no sound left his lips. It was agonizing. Back in sight, Pyro fell to his knees and slipped to the side, blood oozing from the air vent of his optical mask; all the color drained from his very being._

_Dead._

_Scout followed suit, stumbling forward and dropping lifelessly to the ground; his bat rolled mockingly from his loose hand._

_Dead._

_Demoman coughed painfully, spurting out blood as his body went limp and his head lolled to the side, his seemingly eternal grin falling off of his lips like his blood flowed._

_Dead._

_Sniper convulsed and looked up to medic, tears of blood slipping from his eyes and down his deathly features. His arms, previously gripping the fallen plaster, flopped to his sides and the Australian’s entire body fell face-first onto the floor._

_Dead._

_Again Medic cried out, renewed tears pouring from his eyes, his own body shook violently as he fell to his knees. His own pain was overwhelming, he clawed at his chest as an annoying itch took over and quickly escalated into an agonizing burn that seemed to tear at his very skin._

_He hated himself, he couldn’t save them, he was no doctor, they were all dead because of him, all dead, all dead, alldeadalldeadalldead-_

Medic shot up, backbone straight on his bed, the covers flying from his torso. Sweat dripped off his frame and glistened over his pale skin, his eyes wide with fear; strong hands caught his shoulders, and he quickly lashed out to latch onto whoever was there. He needed to know he was grounded.

The doctor wrapped his arms around the person kneeled before him on his bed, clinging on for dear-life, as if letting go would send him spiraling back into that horrible vision. Whoever it was held him right back, pulling him against a broad frame that offered much reassurance.

It was several minutes before Medic was coherent enough to stop crying, his quaking ceasing for a few moments as he relaxed just slightly in the other person’s arms.

“You gonna be alright now?”

Soldier?

Medic willed himself out of the comforting embrace and sure-enough found the uncharacteristically worried features of their Soldier, ice-blue eyes scanning his face as he awaited an answer, one he received in the form of a silent nod.

“Do you need anything Doc’?” Engineer asked from the doorway, looking more than worried, as if he was about to start crying himself.

“N-no, thank you.” Medic managed to mumble out. _Yes actually,_ he thought tiredly, _some painkillers would be wonderful._ But he said nothing. What medicine they had left was best to be reserved for emergencies. Besides, it was not like he had never experienced a headache before.

It took several minutes of assuring his teammates that all was well before they finally left the doctor alone, Heavy perhaps a few more moments than either Soldier or Engineer, but nevertheless they all finally let him be. 

His head was pounding and he could still feel the minute shakes wracking his body; guilt overwhelmed him and forced him to lie back down. A few distant tears tumbled over his eyelids and slide deceptively gracefully off his cheeks; he knew their deaths were not his fault, but placing the blame made reality that much more in reach.

_._

The train was desolate, except for one young woman who sat quietly at the back of the train, almost invisible if one were to look down the train car corridor. Miss Pauling sighed as she cast her gaze out the window, taking in the, now, waterlogged countryside; Arizona was a decent place on the eyes, the rocky terrain provided a serene location to calm one’s mind. However the scenery gave Miss Pauling no comfort as she was transported further into the desolation of the desert. 

She had been hesitating to look, but the files that were sitting in her lap were tantalizing. Carefully she opened the one on the top of the stack, setting the others in the empty seat next to her. The papers within seemed to be numerous, and she was eager to begin shifting through each bit of information she could read. 

_Designation: Scout. Sex: Male. Age: 20. Height: 5 foot 8 inches. Eyes: Blue. Weight: 152 lbs._

Miss Pauling smirked; of course the pipsqueak’s file was first up. 

_Caffeine addiction developed at age 16: untreated._

_Hyperactive muscle affliction: Refused Treatment_

_High School Educated_

“Well what d’ya know, the little brat is educated.” Miss Pauling murmured to herself, flipping through the rest of his information with genuine interest. She found the rest of the train ride to be considerably more entertaining.


	7. Questions unanswered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it has been a long time since I've updated this I am so sorry. I will do better ad updating from know until it's finished.

.7.

Hearing about Medic’s nightmare was something of a blow to Spy; just knowing that such a stoic man, whose life has basically been centered around science and theory, could be so emotionally damaged was beyond shocking. 

He screwed his eyes shut, and shook his head, willing himself not to think about it; he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. 

As usual, his room brought nothing but an aching chill to his bones and made him think about Pyro, _his_ Pyro. Without any more emotions to show, Spy merely _hmphed_ and ran a gloved hand along the sheets of his bed.

He and Pyro used to sit there, he recalled with a disparate smile, it’s where Spy perfected sign language, it’s where he got to see Pyro for the first time; round face, half of it burned terribly, absurd auburn locks curling down over bright abnormal yellow/orange eyes, and so, _so_ adorable.

Spy blurted out a laugh into the silence of his room before he stood up again and strode to the extraordinarily plain mirror on the wall. He looked himself up and down, _tsking_ at the sight of his wrinkled suit, crooked tie, and completely un-tidy face.

~ _He struggled for about 2 minutes with his tie, a tie that he had successfully applied countless times, before Pyro finally couldn’t take it anymore and swatted Spy’s hands away. Ignoring his companion’s complaints, the fire-starter tied the Frenchman’s silk tie for him and flattened it under his vest._

_[Is the mighty Bernard nervous?] Pyro signed to him in the mirror, grinning at Spy’s aggravation as he jostled his tie again to loosen it._

_“Non, mon lumière,” Spy began, turning around to kiss the shorter man’s forehead, “I ‘esitate to say excited, however I am the smallest bit eager for our excursion.” He smiled softly._

_[Yeah, you’re just the smallest bit eager, that’s why you could not tie your own damn tie.] Pyro signed in response before he hurried out of the room._ ~

“Damn,” Spy sighed, roughly rubbing the heel of his hand over his eyes. He cleared his throat and returned to starring himself in the mirror, trying in vain to fix his apparel. _I miss you,_ he repeated over and over in his mind. _Come back…_

_._

Over the loud clanking of machinery, Engineer barley heard the heavy footsteps of his temporary assistant, Heavy; he weaseled himself out of the access hatch and sat back on his heels as Heavy stepped up to him. “I found old box,” Heavy pointed out as he set the rusty blue toolbox down with a _thud_.

“Thank ya’ partner.” Engie tipped his helmet before returning to the hole in the wall.

“What are such old tools going to do to help? I have not seen you use these since I was first hired,” The Russian pointed out confusedly. He opened the container and pulled out an ancient-looking traditional Carftsman wrench, “They are rusty.”

There was a _clank_ and Engineer scooted himself back out of the access hatch holding his forehead, “Well,” He began, rubbing the now sore spot on his head, “Respawn is an outdated system, so my new tools won’t do tha’ trick.

To be honest kid, I blame myself for letting this happened. If only…if only I had been more persistent with my requests to update the system. It would have been easy; a few new nuts and bolts, new DNA revitalizer, upgrade the software on the wireless communications signal maybe… _ugh_ , I dun’know!” He grabbed for the old toolbox and snatched the wrench from Heavy’s hands. Without another word he crawled back into the hatch, setting on with his endeavor to try and jumpstart Respawn.

Heavy remained, and listened silently to every hissed curse and loud clang, some worried him, but judging on the incoherent mumblings that emanated from the access hatch, Engie was just fine. He held a plate in his hands with one of his sandwiches on it, intending to present it to the Engineer so he could take a break from, what seemed to be, difficult work. But Heavy understood the stress and the anxiety, they all did, because they were all going through the same set of circumstances; though some of them handled it a bit better than others.

And Heavy acknowledged that Engineer coped by tinkering and keeping himself busy, he had for the past week or so after Medic’s initial night terror, and he was not going to interrupt the quiet time he knew Engineer needed. So he set the plate down on the small stool off to the left of where the Texan was working, “If you need me again, just call. Okay?” He said, and got nothing more than an affirming mumble in response.

Once upstairs, Heavy seated himself in the middle of the overused sofa and just remained quiet; he should be finishing patching up the stairwell and the wall from the attack, maybe, but he could not find the energy to move more rubble and hammer more wood. He was just tired, muscle-deep, bone-aching exhaustion that was becoming impossible to ignore; he let his head for languidly back against the head of the sofa and shut his eyes. 

The images of his dead teammates still seemed taped to the insides of his eyelids and were ever-present whenever he tried to sleep, his memories relentless in their desire to make him feel as small as possible; he sighed deeply and tried to ignore the reality of the past, and instead focused on the good memories he fished out of the darkness. The first time Pyro ever saw snow, at Viaduct, and Scout taught him how to lob the perfect snowball at Heavy; yeah, he smiled to himself, he rather liked that one. 

_._

The curiosity was too much, and Miss Pauling could just not keep her hands off the remaining manila folders that lay in her bag, and she made a quick grab for the one underneath Scout’s.

_Designation: Pyro._

_Sex: Male._

_Age: 24_

_Height: 5 foot 5 inches_

_Eyes: Orange-yellow_

_Weight: 178 lbs._

_High School educated._

_Committed for arson: 13 accounts; Major property damage; one human death; three animal deaths._

_Pyromaniac: Deemed dangerous at age 16._

_Cerebral Cortex damage at age 14: Treatment ineffective. Result: permanent loss of voice._

_3rd degree burns over 75% of the body; accidental; self-inflicted; age 16._

_Physical/Mental therapy from ages 10-17: Deemed ineffective._

Miss Pauling frowned as the information skipped to Pyro being employed with Mann Co.; missing approximately 7 years of information on their fire-wielder. It was odd, but not completely unexpected.

Her confused frown morphed into an apathetic stare as she closed the file; she had never expected Pyro to be in such bad shape before he joined BLU, she knew it was bad, she’d know for a long time, but the revelation of the full truth startled her. 

Another folder was pulled; the next one in the stack

_Designation: Soldier._

_Sex: Male._

_Age: 33_

_Height: 5 foot 9 inches_

_Eyes: Pale/Ice blue_

_Weight: 205 lbs._

_Educated at George Washington University in Washington, DC; 4-year standard diploma._

_Enlisted in U.S. military at age 16: Turned away due to his failure to pass any mental stability tests._

There was more information on the following pages, mostly about Soldier’s affiliations with his few family members, and even fewer friends; Engineer came up in his file multiple times, being shown to have paid for transport passes, housing, and other smaller pleasantries, all of which were shipped to Soldier’s address or to Engineer’s. Miss Pauling smirked knowingly. 

Engineer’s file was the largest of the bunch by far; the folder stretched nearly three-inches thick with papers filled to the edges with information. Not only about his life and affiliation with Mann Co., but rather his remarkably large amount family members and friends; 8 of the friends listed were a group of mercenaries Miss Pauling just _happened_ to know personally. 

His credentials were impressive as well; multiple degrees in more than one field, years upon years of schooling, positive recommendations from about every kind of engineering/technology company one could imagine; it was all a bit overwhelming, but it was worth flipping through the pages when she found a black and white photocopied picture of the entire BLU team. And it was easy enough to tell it was the BLU’s just because of how they were stood together.

Pyro was stood snuggly between Spy and Scout, the latter of which was glaring to his left at Medic, who appeared to have snatched the youth’s hat away; Miss Pauling effortlessly imagined the nagging German tone insisting that Scout remove his hat for the picture, only to be shot down by an aggravatingly quick Bostonian accent. Spy was smiling faintly in the picture, but managed to look exasperated, odds are by the Australian leaning against his other shoulder casually. Engineer had Soldier around the waist, and the general looked startled, but still held his smile for the camera. Demoman was standing tall behind the group, holding a bottle of skrumpy in the air for all to see, practically slung over Heavy, who stood properly next to Medic, a calm smile on his round features. 

Miss Pauling chuckled quietly to herself: her extraordinary boys.

Her calming reminiscence was halted gradually as the reality of her duties flooded back into her mind; or rather the lack of know-how on what exactly she was going to do once she arrived at 2fort, what she was going to find, if she was going to find anything. Nervously, she thrummed her well-groomed nails against the surface of the manila folder in her lap and remained silent in her musings; she would not admit she was nervous, or even scared, but she was. 

_._

Soldier sighed hard, his feet too tired to continue his pointless patrols, and mind too congested with overwhelming fears to even begin formulating coherent thoughts. He slowed to a halt, the heels of his boots clicking together as he stood at attention; but his posture failed and he pressed his back to the nearest wall and sank to the ground. He curled his knees in and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin over his folded arms and remaining still. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how hefty his Kevlar was on his cranium and the fatigue that made his shoulder joints creak and neck ache, and made all of his testosterone-induced zeal fade to nothingness within the hollow of his chest.

Numbed fingers moved delicately to remove the helmet on his head and cradle it to his chest, exposing previously covered eyes to the dimly lit hallway incandescent bulbs, lidded in his exhaustion. The front of his head throbbed painfully, as did the scabbing wound still aggravating his shoulder; he offhandedly wished that he had never allowed himself to be shot by a damn rocket. _Taste of my own medicine_ , he thought dryly. 

Perhaps it was lack of nutrients, or blood loss, or the fact that everything was going to absolute shit around him, but Soldier felt so undeniably _human_ in a place where he had tried so hard to make himself out as something more than human. He would ask _why_ over and over to himself, but no matter how many times he asked it, there was no suitable answer that would allot such circumstances to be explicable, and not knowing was something that he could not stand having to deal with; he liked control, he _liked_ being their more-than-human.

But this… _this_ was anything but control, and Soldier felt nothing but guilt, because not only was he their more-than-human, he was their self-proclaimed leader, and while he never voiced his concerns, his team was his life, his family. And he let the two youngest be killed, and then his best friend, and then one of the few people he has ever regretted not getting to know better. 

He cursed the REDs as his fingers scratched against his Kevlar still held firm in his grip. “I want them dead.” He ground out through clenched teeth. Perhaps he still had some zeal left in him, but he could not grasp it for long as it was quickly replaced with a devastating sense of irresponsibility and failure; though he was numb to the feelings now. 

Hidden from Soldier’s, evidentially rather short, audio range, Spy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, beginning to truly feel the absence of hope; for Soldier was their hope, in the sense of general morale, his flamboyant naivety providing him with the misguided reasons to continue endorsing the rest of the team’s rapidly decreasing positivity. But he supposed reality was bound to catch up even with the likes of Soldier, he did not want to say it out loud, part of him thought if he ignored his thoughts then they would never come to fruition; but something about seeing the general curled up in a desolate led Spy to believe that even ignoring his thoughts would not prevent them from happening.

Lost in the thoughts he was trying to ignore, Spy remained in place for a few long minutes, as did Soldier, and neither of them moved or hardly made a sound; occasionally Soldier would audibly sigh or shift positions, but there were no more words to be said, he had no more. He was now only vaguely aware of the wound in his shoulder, and the fact Medic had requested his presence for a checkup probably 30 minutes before; he was not in the mood to care, he just wasn’t.

_._

Miss Pauling decided that, since she was heading into the desert and did not know what she was to find when she arrived at 2fort, that flaunting her favorite business wear was not the most advantageous of options. So she placed the manila folders into the backpack the Administrator gave her, too paranoid to just leave them on the seat as she made her way to the train’s lavatory, glad she had preemptively brought along a change of clothes that did not involve a dress. 

When she returned to the train car and to her seat, she was dressed instead in a pair of baggy beige cargo capris and a purple long-sleeved shirt of which the sleeves were rolled up her arm to keep her cool in the heat of the desert; an outfit she would typically wear around her home in the spring or summer, she figured it would work fine for the occasion. 

Taking a look out of the train at the rapidly passing scenery, nothing but a lot of low flat-land with large hills in the distance, the occasional tree or bush would pepper the otherwise orange, sandy expanse; it was all rather boring, and Miss Pauling idly wondered how anyone could live out here, referring obviously to the citizens of the Badlands. That coupled with the two teams of mercenaries fighting a war within a few miles of their homes, it was no surprise that the people were always in such an uproar about it.

In her boredom she pulled out another file folder and opened it with a slight eagerness. 

_Designation: Spy_

_Sex: Male._

_Age: 37_

_Height: 5 foot 10 inches_

_Eyes: Brown_

_Weight: 160 lbs._

_Educated at the University of Paris for 6 years: Completed studies in World Government and Multi-Lingual courses._

_Passed advanced on fluency tests in the following; English, Spanish, German, Russian, Arabic, Italian, and Swedish._

And that was it, there was nothing after his college life and before his initial employment at Mann Co. and while Miss Pauling found that strange, it was not unexpected, and she slipped the folder back into her bag. If she gave it an actual thought, it was probably Spy himself who was rid of the information; that or the deletion of information was in the terms of his contract with Builders League United, she was not sure, she never had the opportunity personally to read their contracts. 

As she starred out at the mundane scenery, thinking about passably interesting things, her mulling was interrupted by the sudden and harsh lurch of the train car, or perhaps it was the entire train, she could not tell as she was forced against the back of her chair, and then to the floor. The manila folders in her bag toppled out and she immediately busied herself with stuffing them back into her backpack and zipping it shut, even as the train continued to lurch.

 _-Miss Pauling: get off the train.-_ She heard a voice in her ear say, and she, being trained as a soldier may be, did not hesitate to follow the order. With a burst of adrenalin, the administrative assistant sprinted to the front of the train car and tore open the sliding metal door; the high-velocity winds whipped against her face and blew her hair out of place, but she was more focused on the still lurching train and the rapidly passing ground as it ran by her. 

With delicate steps, Miss Pauling inched her way to the edge of the train car as to peer forwards to preemptively decide where to jump, she spotted a quickly approaching clear dune of sand that would likely be the easiest to jump to. She fixed the backpack and tightened it around her shoulders; she could not help but hope she survived this.

It was not until she was mid-jump that she began to question why the hell she was even jumping off the train and if this even had a point, but the thoughts were forgotten as she hit the seemingly soft orange sand rather hard and began to tumble down the dune; sand kicked up behind her that stuck to her skin and clothes as the sediment constantly bombarded her. 

She felt like throwing up by the time she began to slow, her head pounded painfully along with her shoulders and chest and wherever else impacted the ground, she felt a sharp pain as she tumbled over a bush and the jagged branches cut her exposed skin. Though the Sun was obviously beating down hard, Miss Pauling’s vision began to go dark when she finally rolled to a halt. She lifted her arm, only to give up when her shoulder cracked painfully; her head lolled to the side and she barely registered an explosion before passing out.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be updating regularly. TBC


End file.
